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Of Storms

I sit on the back porch, looking out over the water as the wind and thunder whip around in all directions. Lighting flashes brilliantly and the smell of the rain comes in with sound of its drops in the trees.

The power is out, but it’s no loss. And one would think with as much rain as here has been lately I would be sick of it. But there is seething wonderful about when it rains in the country, out on the water. It is beautiful- the sights, sounds and smells of a storm rolling in. Something wild, untame and primal.

Life is that way sometimes too. We ride out the storm, go through the waves, roll wih the current and hope we don’t have to swim upstream too often. We take frequent breaks to rest when we do.

I wish I could write something deep and wise at this moment. Wish I could impart some deeply philosophical gem of thought. But the truth is things have been a bit introverted lately. I have been tending to my own.

And now it is time to enjoy the storm, now that I am no longer in the middle of it. Now it is time to sit on the safety of my porch; covered, dry and protected, on awe of the storms raw power. No wonder we may feel overwhelmed when we are in its path.

And I pour a glass of wine, breath in the soft wet air, and smile.

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Life is Messy

Looking at my house, it’s a mess, to put it nicely.  The dishes are stacked up in the kitchen sink and counter. There are glasses everywhere – on the kitchens table, on the counters, the coffee table, the outside tables, in the garden, in my bedroom, my sister’s and nephew’s bedrooms, and I think I saw one even in the laundry room.

My clothes are everywhere in my room and bathroom. The bathrooms need to be cleaned. The entire house needs to be dusted, wiped off and organized. And vacuumed. And mopped.  There are tufts of cat hair. And dust bunnies.

Oh, yes, the house is a mess.

But that’s what happens when you have a life that makes you feel happy, loved, safe and ready to walk on the clouds.

Life has been wonderful. Mom and Dad came up for a great visit. The family talked, drank wine, ate snacks, laughed and had a great time out on the patio by the garden. The next morning there was coffee to drink and breakfast to eat. There was rushing to leave for work and doctor’s appointments. There were hugs and smiles, plans of when they were coming up again.

And then there are the visits to see him, the man who makes me smile. There is waking up next to him, warm, cozy, safe. It is fun to enjoy those wonderful moments. Getting to know him, talking, laughing and learning. Seeing his life, in his world. Sharing and breathing.

Life is messy. In the best moments, when you are busy living, it can get messy, dusty, dirty….and happy. And my messy house is a sign of a happy life.

 

 

Misconceptions About Writers

Write drunk; edit sober.” ― Ernest Hemingway

Writers stay up all night and write. OK, this one may be true…but only for those who do not have day jobs or families, or children, or any life outside of writing. I think this comes from the fact that most of us wish we were so successful we could stay up all night and write.

Writers look fabulous and writer-ish when writing. No, I look like someone who has had the flew for several weeks. I have on glasses, non-match clothes, barefoot, hair pulled back and usually a large glass of wine very close. And make up? Whatever my face happens to look like at the  moment.

Me looking very non-writer-ish  and non-glam while writing

Me looking very non-writer-ish and non-glam while writing

We all have to be alone, on a pond, or somewhere is Europe to be inspired. Oh, how I wish this were true. But it is not. Fact is I have been inspired while riding the bus, in church, while having sex, in the middle of a break-up (not while having sex in the middle of a break-up, that would be very strange…Please notice there is a comma there), while sitting in traffic, in the tub while shaving my legs. Most of the time writers get inspired by life. Everyday, plain things.

Writers are all brilliant. OK, this one may be true…or maybe it’s just me. Actually, I wish I were as smart and people thought I was. Somehow every thinks that because I am a writer, I must know everything. Most of the time don’t correct them and stay quiet so as to not prove them wrong.

Writers are hermits. Some are, some aren’t. Most of us are somewhere in the middle.

Writers must be eccentric artists. – No, some of us are accountants, teachers, business owners, etc. Sure, some of us are crazy, have a sock drawer that is pure chaos, have 4 cats, sometimes forget to get dressed and talk to ourselves (or maybe that’s just me), but most of us just happen to be good at using words.

Writers are brooding, tortured souls – No. Maybe some of us, but most writers I know are pretty happy. We get to do what we love, and if we are lucky, make a little money because a few people read our stuff and liked it.

Writers are all like Carrie Bradshaw, living fabulous lives, and having lots of sex. No, no and no. While my life is pretty fabulous, I so do not live like Carrie Bradshaw, nor am I having lots of sex (did I just write that out loud?!?). Most people think we lead glamorous lives. Many of us have day jobs. Many of us, if we are lucky enough to be able to work form home, may bot even get dressed or take a shower when we are writing. Super. Glam. I know.

Writers are all Fat or fabulously thin. Not so much. Some of us are, some of us aren’t. but most of us are caught in that Bridget Jones hemisphere of if we could just lose that extra 20m pounds, we could fit on our “skinny jeans”  that we refuse to throw away  – just in case, say a world famine happens are we can actually fit into those jeans.

We are starving artists or super rich. Nope. Just like the skinny jeans thing, most of us are making a living, somewhere above the lower and below the upper.

Writers know everything about literature. Um, not so much. Or spelling, or grammar, or sentence structure. That’s what editors are for.

We have wonderful offices in which to write – This one is also many times true. I know I have a wonderful home and work office where I am supposed to write. Many of us do. And most of us never use those spaces. I had a great home office, with lots of books, magazine, stacks of papers. However, where I actually write is completely different. Where I really write is on my couch, in my bedroom office, or in my bed.

Me and my total Glam writing life:

Yes, I am a Mother

I was asked one question several times while I was traveling over the Mother’s Day weekend to see my best friend’s wedding – Are you a mother? I instinctively said no I don’t. I don’t have any children so this seemed like the most honest answer. Most smiled and wished me a happy Mother’s Day anyway.   Then one person asked me if I was a mother, and I said no, but I do have a sister and nephew who are living with me. She smiled and said, “Then make no mistake, you ARE a mother.”

And upon further consideration, I suppose I am. After all, sometimes being a mother has nothing to do with biology.  I am typing this after every one has gone to bed, after dinner has been cooked and cleaned, everyone has settled in for the night. Kitchen is cleaned, lunches are ready for the morning.

I make sure this house is a home, full of love and comfort, Make sure those I love have what they need, and most of what they want. I work hard, every day, to make sure they know they are loved and wanted.  I support them, all of them, in my home and their own households when they are not here. I plan the grocery list, check the locks at night, turn on the alarm, make sure the household is running smooth.

There are chores that are planned, who vacuums, cooks cleans and such. The snack plates and glasses are gathered from their rooms. There isn’t a time during the day that I do not think about them. They come before what I need most of the time. There are conversations about how their day went; hopes, dreams, thoughts and more. I brought up hot tea and cold beverages before setting in myself to write. This is a spring board, for them, I know.

Dating? Personal life? My family is my personal life. Between all the work that I am doing, all the writing, both contract and freelance, making sure my family is comfortable and has everything they need, I don’t have time to worry about men. And men like to come first. My family comes first, so that does not bode well for relationships. If a man wants to be with me, he will have to come after my family. And he will have to understand that my time is limited, valuable and make the most of it. He will have to keep up with me and the busy schedule that is my life at this time.

I give everything I can, all that I am, to my family, my writing and my home. I love hard, work hard and play hard.  There is fatigue when my head hits the pillow. There is pressure every day to do more, be better, than the day before, for them.

Sound like a mother? Yes, indeed I am. And I love it and am so blessed beyond words to have my home be their home too.

In Between

If you obey all of the rules, you miss all of the fun.– Katharine Hepburn

In between the blogs, the words typed and thoughts discovered, have been many events, smiles, laughter, fingernail painting, hopes, dreams, wishes and secrets. Indeed, life has been full, overflowing even. Jobs and contracts, handwritten notes and typed reports. I have flown, walked, driven, screamed, caught flowers, played jokes, broken rules, taken risks and won poker games. I have even felt a young man’s teeth on my thigh, as he slid a garter on my leg, then took the garter off, then put the garter back on, all with his teeth, at  my best friends wedding, all caught on tape.

There has been moving out, moving in and moving on. Many dinners, countless dirty dishes, some desserts and more glasses of wine. Family, friends, new chances, things gained, moments lost, seconds taken and actions pondered. I have cried in joy, frustration, fear and from missing someone. From missing you and your voice, and your touch.

The garage is full, closet packed, trunk empty, attic organized, grill bought, freezer stacked and shelves lovingly cleared. I have seen my best and longest friends married, seen one loose a friend, one get divorced. A close friend get a promotion, one loose a job, one pack to move and start over and one going back home.

Oh yes, in between the writing, there has been so much, of everything, to tide me over. And so many times, I feel as if I am about to pop if I don’t run and write it all down, saving, recording each moment, expressing each detail. But  that would require my absence in the moment, and I am too busy living, soaking it all in. All the while, my heart is full, Peace is at  my door and happiness through the clouds calls my name. And I answer.

So more to come, so much more, in between living life.

All in the Family

My house has been taken over by my family. And cats.  It’s like a whirlwind/tornado when my family comes to visit. It’s not like in the movies, where you open the doors and there are calm, sweet hugs and kisses. There are hugs and kisses yes, but then there is the unloading. The unloading of the van is like a race, it must be fun fast and furious, before anyone sits down or catches up. While this may not seem like anything substantial, it is quite the event because my parents pack for just in case – of a nuclear war, of a famine, of a mass communication outage or power failure.

There will be many coolers worth of food (they feel bad for making me cook and provide sustenance, so they bring a lot of their own). Meats, breads, cheeses, wine, filtered water, fruits, vegetables and a whole smorgasbord of home made, home cooked yummy goodness. Even fresh canned treasures from their own garden. There is more food than can possibly be imagined, and my mother immediately starts organize the treasure on the cupboard, refrigerator and freezer with such precision, talent and concentration, one can only stand back in awe and watch the master at work.

Next will be all of Dad’s electronics. My father is a professional engineer, and truly believes that having every gadget known to man-kind is a must. And so he travels with the Garmin, his laptop and several things I have no clue as to their purpose, but they have a lot of chords. And parts. And little lights. And sometimes they make noise. I try not to go near where ever his treasure of electronics are, as I am a clumsy disaster waiting to happen, especially after a few glasses of wine.

All the bedding is next. Blankets, sheets and more pillows than anyone should be legally allowed to own. There is no shortage of pillows at my house, however, they like their own and want to make sure they are comfortable sleeping. Don’t you hate it when you sleep at someone else’s house, and it’s not YOUR pillow? And you can’t get comfortable. And it smells different. And then you wake up the next day with a sore neck? Smart people travel with their own pillows.

My wonderful parents also always bring lots of things for me . And the house, or garden, the laundry, the garage, or just because you might find a way to use it, stuff. It’s like Christmas, but better because you didn’t have to spend any money on gifts. Or wondering what to get people who already have everything. (Monogrammed golf shirt? Dad doesn’t play golf. That new fangled, gotta have it, only available for a limited time, can’t find in stores, so call now and get free steak knives too, kitchen gadget? Mom already has it.  A nose hair trimmer? Now, that’s just tacky).

After all of this, two very small, almost dainty, overnight bags are unloaded, containing toiletries on clothes. NO matter how long they are gone, a weekend or a month, somehow everything they will use, wear or need fits in those little bags. I swear they have no bottom, like going to see David Copperfield and he pulls a 10 foot pole out of a two-inch hat? Yes, just like that. It really is amazing to see everything they fit into those bags.

After everything is unloaded, organized and put in the proper place, everyone sits down and starts to catch up. Coffee is poured (unless it’s after 5, then it’s wine). There is laughter and smiles, teasing and oh so much love. we talk, tell of our latest adventures, whether in the garden or across the world and have good family time. Yes, it’s good to have family come visit.

Gardenening by the Light of the Moon, and Wine

They were in thee little pots, green and leafy, some of them already loaded down with blooms. And they needed to be planted. My sister has quite a green thumb, a gene I did not inherit. Everything I seem to try to grow ends up brown and withering, each leaf falling slowly one by one. Painful to see really.

Down here in the south it gets quite hot during they day, even now in the early spring. It is mid April and already the temperature has hit 80. So my sister and I, and her green thumb, went out to plant by the moonlight. We got the little pots of plants, our garden tools, two wine glasses and two bottles of wine. And we, two sisters, planted a garden by the moonlight.

She told me where to put the plants so that they would grow in the garden. She told me how to plant them, how deep, how to water them, and what to plant them with and next to. We dug in the dirt, talked, laughed, dug, sang, drank and planted. Two girls out in the moonlight. If our neighbors happened to see us, they would have laughed and thought we were crazy. But we had so much fun, and the result is a beautiful garden, great memories and the making of a…home.

Wine glass in the pots

Wine glass in the pots

Planted wine glass in the garden

Planted wine glass in the garden