beauty

Seeing spring flowers, George Saunders, and progress

Today, I was rudely woken by the racket of heavy machinery. It interrupted a dream conversation I was having with an old friend of mine named J. P. We were discussing the cuff links he bought – they were more expensive than the suit he was buried in. I’d gone to bed last night trying to find the “structure” for the novel I’m working on and had been toying with the ramifications of when the mother dies in the story. I think all of my novels involve a MC with a dead mother. If the mother is alive at the beginning of the new one, is that progress?

I’m writing this in view of these lovely flowers from a person whose book I’m beta reading/editing. When they hate the comments I have and the insights I’ll offer, at least I’ll have picture of this beauty. As a writer, I know that only thing I’m hoping to hear is, “It’s perfect! No changes needed!” when someone (Nina Fosati) reads my work. As an editor, I rarely read anything that doesn’t need a tweak or two…or much more.

Babel’s season ended last Thursday with George Saunders. I enjoyed his talk and the following conversation with Barbara Cole immensely.

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Many thanks to Nina Fosati for arranging and driving there this year. Speaking of driving, the maple dropped red bits on Ben so it looked like he had measles. Actually, he needs another part and will be back in the shop next week. So I guess that’s more “not driving” related than “driving.”

I’ve never had a dog I had to take to a groomers before. They do wonderful magic. Kobie went from this:

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To this:

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The transformation was huge and quick, unlike spring where the changes take time.

And the kitchen renovation. Man, that is taking time, too.

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Ah well, I’m enjoying it all while it’s happening and if it’s possible, I extend the length of beauty as much as I can. Perhaps that’s why I’m dawdling on the new book. It’s a good theory, don’t you think? Beats the easier to believe one where laziness is to blame.

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Thanks for stopping by and for the read!

Mad Quest: Organizing My Stuff

It got to the point where the papers in the “to file” box tumbled over the sides again and while I picked them up for the fifth time, I realized I really had to tackle that job. Bank statements, take-out menus, invitations to events I never had any intention of going to, and stray button batteries lingered in that box for up to two years – perhaps longer – but the box is now empty. Not only did I file, I went through the files and purged them of outdated material. It feels really good to have that done. I have some hope that I’ll get to the filing a bit quicker next time.

(Don’t laugh! It could happen!)

Occasionally, I’ll try the “touch it once” paper solution idea, but that rarely lasts longer than three days because I’d rather work on a story than go through mail the second it comes. Besides, I like lingering over J. Peterman catalogs…

Of course that “good deed” lead to others, like making an appointment with a lawyer to update our wills since the ones we had named a now dead person to be the executor in case we died at the same time, which led to the deed being “quick claimed” so if something happens, (knock-on-wood-it-doesn’t) probate can be avoided. Lawyers are expensive creatures! I mean, I knew that in general, but when I got the bill, I started wondering if I shouldn’t have stuck with my 6th grade goal and pursued a career in the legal profession.

I also went through the stack of “there’s an article/quote/cartoon/recipe I want in here” newspapers. Then, I tackled the print out stack in my office and I can now find the stories I want because they are in folders. It’s a New Year miracle!

All of that good stuff means I’m behind on collecting the tax stuff, but I’m close. I’m also upping my game with writing and submissions. I don’t know how long these good intentions will last, but they aren’t “resolutions” so they have a better shot of continuing than not. I hope.

I think the burst of ambition has a little to do with being inspired by beauty.

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They are both by Mia Avramut. Husband matted them last Saturday and they are ready to hang, but I have them on the shelves of the bookcase where I can admire them for now. They are both so gorgeous; these photos do not do then justice.

So, that’s what has been happening around here. Thanks for checking in!

 

 

 
*These are my Creekside reflections. Your experiences may vary.

One Trip Leads to Another

This week I feel as though things are returning to what passes for normal. Our regular postal carrier is back, I volunteered at the library on Saturday, a few rejections have rolled in, I read the NY Times on Sunday, etc. but now it’s time to make a list and pack a few bags.

Soon after I arrived in Boston, my brother-in-law suffered a heart attack. It was scary and surreal. I thought my niece and I would be changing plans and leaving for Pennsylvania, but we didn’t. The blockage was removed. A stent was put in. He made it to a medical facility in time…

Rachael drove home this past weekend. Husband and I are going this weekend. We’re going to visit and make sure he’s ok.

I talked to him last week. He called his heart attack a “wake-up call.” I wonder how far he’ll take it. He’s quitting smoking (again) and choosing better foods. I think it’s a great start, but he confessed he had a beer already. I thought it was a bit too soon.

Currently, I’m on the “preachy” side of sobriety where I am well aware of what drinking does–and doesn’t do–for me. I stop drinking every year for Lent. Somehow, it is easy. Then I restart. Searching in old notebooks for notes on Ellie’s Elephants, I came across a thought last year that maybe last year would be the year I just stop drinking for good. I’ve had the same thought this year, too, but I sense the reason I do restart is that it makes life easier.

This realization is a complaint of sorts, but I don’t think I’ve made it before. Being away from home during Lent let me see things in a different way. Yes, Husband is not a neat person. I don’t think it would kill him to help a little more. Nothing drastic–just not rip open the shower curtain so the hooks come off the rod OR hooking them back on when he’s done. Little tiny things. I know I ask him to do these things and occasionally he’ll remember to, then he forgets. I think I go back to drinking so these things bother me but I can block them out, get up the next day, notice more minor irritations, block them out or sleep them off and begin again.

Sad, isn’t it?

Right now, I think it is sad, but, will I turn that realization into a “wake-up call” for my life? I don’t know…

What I do know is that I’ve gotten a milder wake-up call–a nudge really–from a few places about my own poetry. I received a few higher tiers and a personal rejection in the past two weeks. A writer friend wrote “…however, you are a poet; prolific it seems to me, but you don’t let the poet come out very much in your workaday writing…” I had decided to be mad at him for that, but a story I read for r.kv.r.y had me look at something in a way I hadn’t considered before, so maybe being a “poet” is what I’m trying to recover from, or block out or choose not to deal with because poets rarely get respect, let alone paid, and then a poetry submission to r.kv.r.y. from someone I briefly met in Boston came in and showed me beauty and passion with a few words so perhaps–this is just my sobriety speaking–perhaps being a poet wouldn’t be the most tragic thing in the world ever to happen to me if I decided to pursue it. Maybe.

* These are just my creekside reflections. Your epiphanies may vary.