Category Archives: winter, spring, summer, fall

Sun on a Sunday

Walked the dog. Did both crossword puzzles, more or less. And I’m back to editing after a hiatus — easier than going back to writing after a pause, but still a hurdle.

Fall routines in progress here. We put the hammock away. Brought the Christmas cacti inside. Started (the endless) raking.

It’s a meatloaf or chili kind of day, but I already cooked chicken thighs, so we’ll have them along with a bean salad featuring Rancho Gordo’s cassoulet bean.

I’ll admit to checking my phone EARLY today with a ghoulish anticipation. But, don’t get me wrong — I hope our president recovers. I really do. I live for the day when he is repudiated in a landslide election and then prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

I am at a little bit of a loss with my sewing.

Where we are — fall equinox

All the junk that goes with being human — the sweaty parts, the sour refusals, jealousies ocean-sized and petty, the worm of veins as aging wears out the body. We try, though, don’t we? We try to manage expectations, to overcome the vast array of annoyances, to face our fears as we watch the burning hellscape that is America.

To get up and fight.

It might be our turn to fall. If so, it won’t be from from hubris, but from a toxic blend of corrupt greed and epic stupidity. Plus Facebook. While Oleg Deripaska funds aluminum plants in Kentucky, a passel of white people in Pennsylvania storms Target yelling about their freedom not to wear masks.

Huh?

Outside, a pounding — perhaps a new deck for a neighbor? Maple leaves ruffle in the wind. They will crisp and yellow and before long, fall and litter the fence line. How do your hold your suffering? With what secret thoughts or unsustainable compromises? Winter, as has been said, is coming.

By the time the neighbor’s new deck is nailed together and stained and holding chairs and company, the election will be upon us. The massive efforts to steal it, already in motion. If only this… if only that… How to do enough?

How many things have you lost of late? What of them matter? Where does Hope dwell in your body?

I think Ruth Bader Ginsburg would want us to hold fast to Hope with a ferocity past all reason. Don’t you?

Collage made WHILE in labor

Prompt: write for five minutes about all the junk that goes with being human.

In person

Look who came to visit! After years of FB messaging, sharing online reading, exchanging chapter reviews and comments about sewing, Deb Lacativa and I met in person. It felt as though we’d known each other for decades.

Deb was in town to deliver the key note speech at a writers’ conference in Salem. Her talk was what you’d expect: at once earthy, humorous, and inspirational. I was proud to be her plus-one.

During her visit, I made a bland chili, an alright chicken and potato dish, and an okay spinach salad. Why is it, sometimes, that my renditions of tried and true dishes disappoint when I have guests?

Oh well.

It rained one day but that was okay. Deb joined my class that morning and wrote along with us. That was fun. She also blew everyone away by reading a portion of her manuscript.

Regarding my own draft: conversations at the conference about word count have me all fired up. Today, I printed out a list of chapters and highlighted those that I either love or deem essential. That left about half as dross. Half! I’m eager to see a leaner, more narrative version.

The world is rather rusty and yellow right now. Still quite a lot of raking to do.

The collapsed vegetation offers the rough beauties of decay.

A faux tree made of road ribbons!

Sometimes joy is simple

Driving home from Salem, I assembled the ingredients in my mind: basil on the window sill, garlic in the bowl on the counter, Parmesan in the cheese drawer, pine nuts in the pantry.

Pesto? Really? There may be a foot of snow on the ground, but — yes — I just made and devoured a heavenly bowl of pasta with pesto. Since this dish usually appears on my table in the hot months and almost always with some element of planning, I felt a little surprise in its coming together. Joy, even.

It’s possible that a new status quo is emerging in Salem, though it’s a little hard to tell. Today, my sister was alert and clear thinking, with one exception.

“Will you be taking the Berkshire spur home?” she wanted to know.

No, I told her. Route 128 all the way.

For some reason she thought we were in Western Mass.

PS I do know not to house fruits and vegetables in the same container. I think K must have put the onions in the fruit bowl.