Yesterday was pure magic. First it was Sunday and it felt like a sabbath. A kind of quiet day given over to prayer and introspection, rest and reflection. To reading. Early in the morning the fog was rising in the little valley but the sun there at the edge of the world at sunrise was promising. The wind had turned and was blowing in from the East. The Summer was past and it let me know that soon the wind would turn, tunnel down from the North and I could feel all these things down in my soul. That it was time to pile wood, to ready for Winter. It was the first day where it felt as if that old clock known as seasons had shifted. No more Indian Summer days that surprised us with warmth and promise. Now the wind held a chill, shook the trees that cast off their leaves by the hundreds. I watched them sweep and pile at my feet. The world on the hill was quiet. The traffic kept its peace.
Lately, I've been embracing Sunday's for reading. A curl up in bed or sit on the porch kind of day to allow myself this luxury. Not reading for work, or after work or just before bed. But reading as a center-point of the day. A spoke of a wheel. And since it is Sunday I've laid aside all types of reading and picked up a habit of reading those things that reflect or embrace a spiritual side of life. In some way. This is a wild, sweep of a description since it encompasses so much. Books like Leif Enger's Peace Like a River would fall into my Sunday category. Yesterday, I picked up Mark Richard's House of Prayer No. 2. Roy Blount, Jr. described this work as "Hot damn! and Glory Be!" and I think that is a fine assessment. I've never met Mr. Richard's but I read this book years ago when an author friend, Michael Morris was kind enough to mail it to me with a note that said - I think you will like this book. And, he was right. I like it as much the 2nd time around as I did the first and am highly recommending it to those people who are studying writing with me to add it to their library of books that lead by example.
So, I read and watched the leaves fall and said my prayers. And read a book on prayer that is meaty and in it's upteeth printing since the 1940s and it requires that I concentrate on the words. And then think about them. And then underline some and think about them some more. It's Harry Emerson Fosdick's book on The Meaning of Prayer. I picked it up in the throw away free books at McKay's when I went in to find season 3 of that very, expensive soap opera known as POLDARK for me and Mama to watch. The Poldark's have just about worn us out with their problems but we are hanging in there trying to help the story find a happy ending. Which may never be forthcoming since PBS is now on Season 4. We are almost caught up with our binge watching evenings and then we will have to return to Antique Road Show and the Golden Girls to find something to agree on until the next big thing comes along.
Last night it grew dark early. Mom had gone over to Sisters to visit, little dog Duncan had gone to the sitters and for a moment Kevin the rescue dog and I sat in the growing evening shadows as I read House of Prayer No. 2 and the house was still and silent. The rain had started and was steady, the wind still shaking the branches, raining down in gusts acorns that are golf ball size and clack, clack, clack against the roof. The birds defied the wind and clung to the feeders eating as they were spun around and around and around. There was a kind of peace that defies the stress that so easily besets us these days. On every level.
For a few moments I quit worrying about things and was just a reading woman, sitting by an empty fireplace. I kept looking up from the page knowing that soon and very, soon I'd be layering log upon log, smoking up the old house in such a way that everything in it including me will smell like wood smoke until Spring. So be it. Seasons come and seasons go. And my soul is learning to rest in this knowledge and to count my blessings.
Today's facebook post was specifically designed for Monday's. If you don't follow or friend yet I hope you will. I realize that there seems to be a world of people out there all in the same boat, trying to keep hope afloat without realizing we are not alone. That we are on this journey together and remembering to be that to each other, fellow travelers, helps lighten our load.
If you haven't signed up for my newsletter on the homepage I hope you will join me there. In the meantime, may your week be bountiful in grace and mercy and all good things.
It's wicked cold in north Tennessee. Fellow writer and Facebook friend Mandy Haynes has been enjoying it to the fullest. She posts the funniest little videos on Facebook walking with her dogs in the snow. So someone is enjoying this. I am not enjoying it. If it were snow at a normal temperature - Maybe. With fat flakes falling. And the lamp lights glowing. For a minute. The kind of large, flake, dry snow that found me curled up with a coffee and writing away at the outdoor covered cafe of Bent Street Deli in Taos, New Mexico. But this is Tennessee cold and it's the kind of freezing temperatures that make your arms fall off.
I posted a photo of Rescue Kevin on Facebook yesterday lying in the snow because he is Part PYR and has a double coat which amounts to TWO fur coats at all times. He does not prefer Summer. He does appreciate that he has a blanket with not one, but TWO HEATING PADS PLUGGED in for him to keep toasty when his toes begin to feel chilly. He likes being outside to guard the - no sheep here. Guess he likes guarding his heating pad. So unlike BIG Dog Titan who slept in whatever room I was in at the time, Kevin prefers to be outside. His greatest wish is that I would be happy sleeping on the porch with him. This is not going to happen. At least not in the Winter.
I am from the tribe of blue jeans on the beach, walking in the sand to the sound of the waves rolling in from the Gulf of Mexico, playing catch me if you can with the water as you walk along the shoreline. This results in the hem of jeans being wet unless you roll them to your knees. Back when we were in high school everyone wore bell-bottom. This was not an option. Bell-bottoms do not roll to the knees and stay there.
I have gotten a kick out of Mandy's post because she is downright giggly. I am downright grumpy. I grump from the woodpile to the fireplace. Yesterday when my sister drove to work it was 6 degrees. This is not fit for friend or foe, beast or man. Who lives this way? I just stare out the window and shiver. It is beautiful - I grant you that. But for me and my constitution meaning my blood and skin and so forth I need sunshine. I operate best at 75 and above. 75 and a breeze and I need a blue jean jacket. I am a Gulf Coast girl. An island girl. I am stuck on this hill in the snow. I haven't left home since I came back from Texas. The driveway (hahahaha) more appropriately, the road that leads to the house is steep. What passes for a driveway goes off the side of a hill. Kid you not. I might need to hire someone to place some really big rocks there or build a wall to catch the car. When it rains and snows and turns to ice it is a bit precarious. Then when you get past that there is THE REAL HILL that goes down, down, down around the curve and down.
Snowed in. This means I must write. Writing what you are thinking about is better than thinking about what you should be writing. This is the kind of thing that makes you crazy. I have been as surprised writing this top secret novel as I have any of them. I write a line and then something AMAZING happens - I write ANOTHER ONE. And another one. I made myself sign off facebook this morning, put myself into time out and wrote. I started to get up out of the chair after an hour. Or to peek at facebook. But then I saw that I had promised I was out writing till 12. This made me go back to writing. At 11 I tried to quit again. Nope. Made myself continue. I think the Facebook Timeout Writing program may be the best writing diet I could be on. I can't check on you or see your faces until I meet my word count. This is a great carrot for me. I may not appear to be the most facebook savvy or that I have commented on everyones everything but I am reading and keeping up.
On the Writing Front -
I am wrapping up the Mastermind Path writing group class this month and will miss it terribly. So I'm offering a continuation of the class beginning in February. Both via conference call which has proven an excellent choice for all. Please stay tuned if your interested.
I am an old Star Trek junkie. Some of my best good times were growing up and the fact that of all things my mother became a Star Trek watcher. We never missed an episode. The dawn of Star Trek The Next Generation brought a whole new world of watching. And, guess what? Guess who was watching it with me? My boys. Who grew up to be Star Trek guys. (And Yes, Star Wars too!) So EVERY Star Trek movie was a hit but in the midst of the busy life I did not watch the continuing saga of Star Trek or Deep Space Nine and so forth. HOWEVER- with the advent of Star Trek Discovery I was itching for a new Star Trek to beam me away. (Yes, I did sign up for that silly CBS streaming service just because of Star Trek) All I asked was for an hour of space talk beyond our Milky Way. In my book Discovery delivered. It took a few episodes to lay the ground work and introduce the characters and set up the storyline but then it did it. It's not your Mother's Trek. Or for that matter your Grandmothers. But they have in many ways boldly gone where no Trek has gone before. It's a whole new world. Snow day. That's how I spent one of them. Catching up on Star Trek.
Mama and Me
We are surviving. Up on this hill. In the snow. Carry in wood, prep the oil lamps, wait for the lights to go out because they always go out up here. We will have power outages for no reason at all. Much less snow storm or ice out. This time it went zap, zap, zap right in the middle of me streaming Star Trek on the big screen. So I went downstairs and lit candles and stoked the fire, helped Mom find pajamas and get into bed. Then I pitter-pattered back upstairs and opened my laptop and watched the rest of the episode curled under sixteen blankets. Deep space indeed. Downstairs in Mama world we watch Golden Girls on that TV and Grantchester (which is on break perhaps forever because the star has become all kinds of popular and may be the next James Bond) and Antique Roadshow. When someone says Oh, I bought this record for a quarter at a yardsale and then Elvis's birth certificate just fell out of it when I got it home and it is worth a quarter million dollars and I look at Mama and ask her, 'What are the chances that we would ever?" She tells me in negative numbers. We are not those lucky people and we will never buy anything that is worth a secret fortune. Then I found her with a table turned upside down on her bed trying to see if it had a 'mark' or a signature. It did not. We both got a good laugh. We still have not hit it rich from Antique Roadshow but we've had a few great conversations about junk we could drag in for assessment.
I have dreams of inviting the Property Brothers to my house for that whole magical remodel thing that they do. Then I have visions of them going hahahahaha. This is one where we see taking it down to the bones. And by bones we mean the ones in the ground.
We are here and out of the cold for the most part. The house does 'breathe' a lot but still we can get cozy. LAYERS as the crazy Winter people say. LAYERS and they skip around while they say it. I feel like that bloated tire man creature that cannot walk with all these layers. BUT - I have Greek style chicken and potatoes in the oven. There's a fire in the fireplace and surely, there's a new episode of Golden Girls recorded. That beautiful white view out the window is melting and the temps will rise to something that allows me to move around outside without crying. Spring is just around the corner. And so is the day I will reach THE END on the new novel.
Peace to you and all your world.
Hey there. Just a few things on my mind.
I picked up a nail. Which led me to a tire store where I was looking for a patch. Well, if you pick up a nail and it's in a certain place where your tire is worn they can't patch it very well. Which means I gotta get a tire. Cause it's all wheel drive - I gotta get two rear tires. Since Daddy said you always have to buy 4 tires at a time looks like I'll be riding on some tread. Which comes in handy on these high speed rolly polly slippy slidey roads in Nashville.
March is trying to kick up some Spring around here but we've had a serious cold snap. Down to 20 degrees at night -
Shut your mouth.
No, Really. It's some crazy cold for those of us with thin skin. My sister calls me a lizard cause I used to lie in the sun on the beach for hours upon hours. It just charged my battery. I need the sun, need a rock and I'm relaxed.
Closest thing to it - building a fire in the fireplace and lying on the floor rotating myself. Big dog doesn't care for the heat but if I"m on the floor and he's laying next to me it's the best sleep he ever gets. He's got an old dog snore and I swear I could ride that snore to heaven. Its good to know that your company means so much. Just being nearby. You can't ask for more than that. Well you can - but why?
Got some new friends reading Saints, and Messenger, Mercy, and The Gin Girl and asking me why in the world I don't write music because I sure write novels like I write music. I said - okay. I'll write some music. So I have. It's Nashville after all. Seems like it by be a sin not to. At least around here.
Spring's setting in no matter how the cold turns. Summer is coming on. Porch time. Long nights. Fireflies. Shooting stars. In light of that, in spite of everything, it's still a good time to be alive.
What's happening in your neck of the world?
Thanks so much for reading, liking and sharing with friends.