A Time for Hope
The wood ducks love to swim into our little cove and waddle into the yard to munch on the acorns our old live oaks drop in abundance. The drakes have gorgeous iridescent plumage with crested heads and distinctive white stripes from the eyes to the end of the crest. The hens are not colorful. Their plumage of browns intermingled with beige offer better camouflage.
The Opposite Shore
As the narrator, I have a roll to fill. The late (and great) Ursula K. Le Guin offers a story in her book on writing, Steering the Craft, that uses the analogy of a boat. Here’s my take on it: our readers climb into a boat with us to journey to the opposite shore.
A Silver Lining
As I look forward to 2021, different emotions assail me. Everyone can agree that 2020 has been a sad and frightening year. The whole world discovered it was in a battle. And the battle continues. But now we are over the shock and have girded our loins, determined to win.
Hopes and Plans
My husband and I are packing to go back up to our cabin in the NC mountains for a few weeks. I’m hoping the leaves are red, yellow, and orange by now, my favorite color palette. I plan to sit in the dining room with its 360 degree view of the surrounding Tusquittee mountain range and add the finishing touches to my book. Yes!
Magic
The magic of a book that talks directly to us is a feeling like no other. We are validated, soothed, yet excited to feel a part of something bigger than ourselves. Rebecca Solnit once said The object we call a book is not the real book, but its potential, like a musical score or seed. It exists fully only in the act of being read; and its real home is inside the head of the reader, where the symphony resounds, the seed germinates.
Who Will Drink My Tears?
I’ve been re-reading The Faraway Nearby by the remarkable Rebecca Solnit. The first time I read my now dog-eared copy was four years ago when I became fascinated with the idea of writing personal nonfiction, especially memoir. I picked it up and put it down several times before I was able to settle in and focus.
The Cabin
We dreamed of building our own mountain settlement, of designing and crafting solid log homes that could become family retreats. We found a mountaintop, plopped down our savings and cajoled a local bank to give us a loan and began clearing roads. We discovered a company in Michigan that hauled in huge logs and assembled them with a crane.
Our Sojourn in Solitude
While contemplating a quiet (as in pack my bags and slink off, maybe forever) disappearance, I came across a piece about Monhegan Island in the Travel section of the paper. As I read about the fierce beauty of the cliffs and the muted stillness of Cathedral Woods, a solution presented itself: a solitary retreat.
A message from COVID-19
As seems to be the case with everyone, my thoughts have been consumed by an organism we cannot see, touch or feel until it makes us ill, or kills us. Somewhere in the fear and frustration of understanding that my life will be different for a while—in ways I already dislike and many I have yet to find out—came a thread of thought I’d like to share.
Alone
My quiet home wraps me in a cozy blanket. I meander through the rooms, breathe in the solitude and remember the craziness of those busy, busy years when every second was planned out, long “to do” lists never quite completed, much like my stack of magazines. I wonder how often my son felt shorted of my attention.
The End as Beginning
This has been a mixed bag of a year, about evenly mixed with joys and upheavals. As always, I am my biggest challenge as I plod ahead stubbornly, making mistakes and anguishing for days about what I should have done instead. Forgiveness eventually comes, but never easily or quickly.
A Time of Giving Thanks
It’s that time of year to be thankful for all we have. To take a few deep breaths between our busy-ness and take a moment to experience the stillness we need to reflect on those tiny moments that pass by like images on a home movie. It’s reflecting on those snippets that create those memories which make up the story of our lives.
Truth or Compassion?
I’ve always thought of myself as a pretty responsible person when it comes to other’s feelings. So much so that I tend to get a mild panic attack when I feel I have let someone down, especially when that person is hurt by something I have done or said. It’s a responsibility we all have, this compassion and understanding for others.
Time Marches On
Because Time is linear by our current concept of understanding, our actions are as well. Imagine placing one foot in front of the other on the path of our lives. We are limited by the time it takes to perform any task. We are bound by our bodies that need food and sleep and other forms of care. We are driven by our motivations, the importance of our daily actions beyond what our bodies need to stay alive and functioning.
Marathon Dump
Every day I think about what I should be writing, jot down a few notes…and find lots of excuses to not transfer my brilliant ideas onto paper. I even shut down the computer for four days. A rebellion. Let me tell you what happened.
A Liminal Space
If you look up liminal space, you’ll find a passage by Richard Rohr, an author and theologian. His reference and encouragement are clear in this passage: …where we are betwixt and between the familiar and the completely unknown. There alone is our old world left behind, while we are not yet sure of the new existence. That’s a good space where genuine newness can begin.
Move That Here, No There…
It’s a blustery Sunday afternoon, relentless summer rains in Florida. I’ve been at my computer since 9:00 this morning, with a break to shower, brush my teeth and eat a bowl of soup. It’s one of those days of intense focus as I labor through the long and confusing task of culling through almost 80,000 words of a book I thought I was almost finished with.
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