Kate Harrington

Vacation Snippets

In Amsterdam, we took a canal tour. It was fun, scenic* and informational. We learned that the number of bikes in the city exceeds that of its population—single speed bikes that whiz along the flat land. We saw far more parked bikes than cars.

In the U.S. we have more guns than people. Which do you suppose is the healthier way to live?

*I might have included a photo here but don’t yet know how to get pictures off my camera and into my laptop. The sunrise below was taken on my phone.

Sleep

Jet lag. Did my best to stay awake that last leg of flying home, after lying awake in a hotel room for hours the night before. Other than a brief doze on the plane around noon—I wonder what time that would have been in Amsterdam?—I succeeded in staying awake during the sun-lit day hours.

Once home, an (unplanned) trick kept me up and moving even after sleepiness hit. Since I’d deposited everything on my bed. I couldn’t get in it until that mess was sorted.

Success! I achieved six solid hours of real sleep, from 8:30 pm till 2:30 am.

And then nothing.

Oh, but my intention for months has been to get up earlier. By 8:30 am, I had accomplished a great deal: scribbling notes, physical therapy**, eating breakfast and newspaper puzzles, feeding and walking Sophie, starting the first wash, grocery shopping . . .

The next day, I was wide awake and up at 3:30. Though a bit draggier than the day before. And this morning managed to rise at 4:30. Perfect.

**If I get up before the newspaper arrives, I can do PT expeditiously, without the procrastination and diversion of puzzling over puzzles.

The Cruise.

I still wish it had been a smaller boat. I had visions—fed by my long-ago Atlantic crossing as an exchange student—of standing on the prow breathing fresh air while we cruised up and down the Norwegian fjords. Instead, often that cruising happened at night. And there was only one very crowded high deck to look out from.

But the break from routine was long overdue. I’m back to revision with a fresh eye.

How about you? What kind of breaks do you prefer?

Deadlines and Emotional Support

One of the hardest things about taking a trip is leaving Sophie behind.

I think of her as my Security Animal, but what does that mean? It’s not that she makes me feel secure—in the danger sense. She’s deaf to all but the loudest noises (so thunder is no problem any more). She doesn’t see well—though if a cat runs in front of her she will react. Last week she was barking and I let her out. She continued haranguing that now invisible creature—probably a cat. It was good to see her lively and aroused, her tail held like a banner. But no, she probably would not react if someone broke into the house.

So what is Security anyway? To me it comes down to a sense of belonging, of having a purpose. Sophie’s purpose is to belong to me the same way she belonged to Wayne, when he fed her and made her appointments. My purpose is to care for her for as long as she lives—and miss her afterwards. I love her for who she is and she reciprocates.

So the best security creature, or Emotional Support Animal, is a two-way street of loving and giving. it’s a good thing she also loves Jane who will be taking care of her. But Jane always tells me she starts watching for my return long before I’m due back.

Deadlines

I love deadlines—and oh, how I resist them. I’ve watched myself, over the years, escaping from that inevitable noose until not quite the last minute.

In this case, I’ve imposed any number of deadlines on myself, all coming due when I leave home for twelve days. There’s the trip itself, the house-sitter instructions, preparing a manuscript for beta readers, packing and worrying about forgetting something, packing Sophie up for a visit to her other home and worrying about forgetting her things . . .

And here I am, amazed at how efficient I’ve been on these last two days. Almost every move has had a purpose. It makes clear how unpurposeful most of my days are.

They say if you want something done, ask a busy person. Well, maybe . . . But I definitely have not been writing. So what is there to measure?

I do hope to return with renewed purpose and vigor. This efficiency simply proves that I’m really leaving home—and I need the break! But it’s hard to leave Sophie behind.

Shaking Loose—

Last night I noted in my journal that I was going to miss another blog deadline. I had been doing so well at making weekly entries and then . . .

And then—besides paying a visit to my daughter—my head got tied up with the current opus revisions. Any spare blog thoughts kept flying away before they could be captured. My writer’s brain had taken charge.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s journals left a lasting impression on me. I must have been reading library copies back in the late seventies or early eighties. My most vivid memory is her description of moving to Hawaii and setting up household—how important it was that she get everything settled the way she wanted it—before she returned to writing.

Since I don’t have her words, I’m going to rephrase them the way I understand it. Once AML was back in her writing headspace, she would no longer be aware of her physical surroundings. How true that is! Besides feeding Sophie and myself, keeping the dishes washed (and occasionally the clothes), I fail to see a lot of what surrounds me.

With a trip coming up, and my self-imposed deadline looming, it seemed a good idea to hire people to come clean my house—which drove me out of it to wipe down my very dusty car. And while doing that, my blog brain clicked in. Unable to get back to revisions with the house getting turned upside down is one way of clearing one’s head.

I’m seeing other advantages to having cleaners. Preparations required tucking away—or tossing—clutter. I took donations to my favorite thrift store. Downsizing was begun about a year ago, but that came to a halt (due to writer’s brain). So perhaps having a monthly cleaner might help shake loose a few brain cells to continue downsizing.

As for the coming trip—Wayne and I used to go camping and hiking every summer. It gave me time to break free from work thoughts and play with writing thoughts.— This time, while away, I’m hoping to get a handle on an unfinished fairytale retelling, the very first one I tried writing in verse.

Much as I love my Viking heroine, the main character appears to be a Pookah. (Yes, I know Pookahs are British and the action takes place in Norway). Since I’m no trickster myself, I don’t know if I can pull it off.

But every vacation needs a challenge. Right?

Reaping the Whirlwind

Well, maybe I don’t wish for any whirlwinds, but I have been harvesting, some even edible.

Potatoes: That rotten potato I planted in the spring—in four pieces; each plant produced one potato before fading away. The longest surviving one produced a potato with two little ones attached. Knowing nothing about potato growing (yes, I should research before next year), I want to do it again, though maybe more scientifically.

Eggplants: I wondered why my three eggplants kept blooming but not producing, so I got out a fine-tipped paintbrush and tickled all available blossoms. In so doing, I discovered one small fruit. Since then several more fruits have appeared. As I can’t claim credit for the first one, I don’t know how much credit I’m owed for my pollination attempts.

Mystery grass: Several times, I’ve picked up a pointy grass seed attached to three long, very fine propellers? usually stabbing into my shoe. I finally located the source at the edge of my driveway. An internet search to ID it was unsuccessful, and my attempts to photograph the flying seed came out poorly. Any ideas?

And finally, harvesting self-discipline: Most days, I do some desk work but other matters suffer. PT exercise, for instance— though PT takes no more than 20 minutes, I tend to shunt it aside. By evening, I thoroughly begrudge having to exercise. Meanwhile, many unregulated hours fly by with nothing to show.

So, this past Sunday, I took a hard look at my slipshod ways.

I have to use August well, since I’m traveling with a sister in early September. For that, I need to: Prepare the house. Weed and mow the yard. Pack. etc. etc. And besides my normal commitments, I registered for two 2-session zoom classes, one on poetry and one on revision.

Having done no work on Sunday, I was highly motivated on Monday. I set out a schedule, alternating activity and desk time. Walk in the cool. Revise for no more than an hour. Do PT! thereby using it as a break. Prepare for a critique meeting. Run errands. Home for lunch. Draft an email to a potential copyeditor. You get the idea. In spite of a jigsaw puzzle pulling me in a couple times—Yes! I felt productive. And tired.

Tuesday, a repeat—but only in the morning, since the afternoon brought a critique meeting and the first of my zoom sessions.

Wednesday morning, I’ve already slipped up. I went from revision straight to blogging. I’ve got to go do PT right now!

I hope all your harvests are profitable. Sophie is harvesting the ZZZs.

Going for Change

My life has felt stuck for many months. This second year of loss has been, in ways, more challenging than the first. You can excuse a lot about what you’re doing, or not doing, that first year. But right now I’m tired of being in limbo, yet finding it really hard to break out.

One difficulty stems from having too much open time. It’s so easy to put off errands and exercise and writing. And without exercise or writing, I sleep poorly.

**I don’t need to change. I’m perfect the way I am.**

In an earlier blog, I mentioned reading a book about psychotherapy which made clear to me that change has its own process. So when I got back to revising a verse novel (languishing for three years), in which my heroine spends three years in a tower while her father’s endless battles finally come to a tragic finish. During her long isolation, she must learn to know herself.

I looked online for a list of steps necessary for bringing about change, wondering if I could apply it to the manuscript, and then couldn’t help but compare those steps to myself. Here’s an example of how they might work over the course of time (weeks in this case):

Precontemplation: Hmm, the desert willows are dropping their dried up blossoms all over the driveway.

Contemplation: Oh, look how they’ve piled up by the back door. The door mat is full of them.

Preparation: That mess really ought to be cleaned up. (I should put it on a list).

Action: I’ve got to leave at 10:00 am. There’s time right now. I’m going to sweep up this mess.

I’m finding that taking action works best when combined with a deadline or a second errand. Last week, realizing that I needed to go to the grocery story, I had an aha moment. The gym was nearby. I could run to the gym (something I’ve put off for months) and then do the groceries.

I was home scarcely an hour later. Friday mornings now have a shape they haven’t had before.

Like going to the gym, I keep thinking about swimming—but the thought of venturing into cold water makes me give up on the idea. I needed to dare myself to do it. I called a friend in my grief group who participates in aquatic exercise. We how have a date to meet at the pool. Meeting a friend to accomplish something is akin to combining errands. I have a timeline to show up. And I’m not about to cancel a commitment to a friend for anything short of dire circumstances.

How about you? Have you executed any changes lately?

Wrestling with the Sun

I did enjoy those few days after my initial Covid miseries, having cancelled appointments and commitments. I felt like my time was my own to be lazy in. Consequently, I dug deeply into my revision work , and also began a new project.

When I mow the lawn, a different kind of grass appears here and there, grass that grows so closely that across the yard are little tufts that look like they’ve had a crewcut. Now that summer is upon us, those same crewcut heads are turning yellow. It finally dawned on me that l was seeing ornamental grasses acting on a take-over plan.

I didn’t think. They had to be stopped. I grabbed bucket and shovel and began digging them out. The first day I managed two bucket loads—it’s a big bucket. Since then, I’ve stopped at one a day. But this job got old really fast. Dig, bend, pull, shake off roots . . .

The next step will be to add a bit of dirt and some buffalo grass seeds where the holes are most evident. That needs to be done soon, since buffalo grass likes to sprout in the heat. But I’m dragging my feet.

The sun doesn’t help. There’s so little time to work without baking. I love our New Mexican sunshine, but summers can turn into wrestling matches, trying to hold back the heat that prevents working outside. Nor does it help that Sophie’s walk takes precedence over other jobs.

So the last few days have passed by with little forward momentum in the yard. I need a break!

But I also need to get that seed in the ground and begin a little watering project to give the buffalo grass seed a chance.

Thanks for listening! Having talked about it here, I’m ready to act while there’s shade. I’m going to work on one small area: rake out acorns, fill holes, sprinkle in seed and then water. I’ll be back to report.

Okay! One little corner of the yard has been dealt with. It’ll be interesting to see if any oak seedlings sprout. They never have before, but who knows what is awaiting these daily watering can visits.

The work made me realize I had been envisioning the whole project and resisting. Much like the way I face my PT exercises. My resistance to the first reps is so high, I often begin with the last, easier ones. Then, warmed up, I’m always amazed at how fast the remainder gets done.

Writing, too, requires narrowing down one’s scope. Just plan to set down a few words or revise a few pages. Save scoping out the big picture for vacations, when there’s time to ponder themes and arcs.

Give me a break!

Here I am, back to my blog—a week later than planned. It was hard to dig myself out of the house, but I also welcomed the chance to get away. A writer can only do so much before needing to refresh one’s creative spark.

Flying out on the first leg of my journey to visit my daughter, I looked over a long-neglected verse novel that requires revision. I re-read the first pages and made notes; then took a further step back, and considered how to reorganize the entire first third of the manuscript to bring it into alignment with the remainder.

No further work happened during the week away. Never before having been on the big island of Hawaii, there was too much new to admire and enjoy. Think papaya for breakfast and acai bowls and fish dinners. And waterfalls and botanical gardens.

Even so, it was really good to get home to Sophie. Somehow, I need a way to take more frequent breaks from routine that don’t require me to leave my dog—at least not for days and nights.

Gimme a second break!

Last fall, everyone I knew who traveled had gotten sick—either during their time away or on their return. My neighbor even got sick before she left; she cancelled her whole journey. So when I made my own quick trip at the end of September to visit family, I masked up for airports and planes. And all went well.

I did the same this time. But where I’d traveled alone before, this time I traveled with my son. We don’t know where it came from, but midway through our visit, he came down with a “cold.” He masked up again, but somehow I picked up the virus and incubated it until arriving home. The next morning, I tested positive for Covid.

It’s been years since I had a cold. Having Covid was one big miserable head cold. And for three evenings I grew chilled as my temperature rose, only for it to dissipate in the morning. I’m sure that’s how colds got their name—but I don’t remember having a fever with one in like forever. Probably not since I was a kid.

But, you know? Having Covid was also a second break in routine. I had to cancel my schedule, which left me free to pursue that verse novel revision that inspired me on the flight out. The focused time for the remainder of the week was so rewarding, I decided I need to give myself a break every week.

I’ve got an idea. More on that topic next week.

Be well, all!

And if you can’t be well, make the most of your breaks from routine. It helps slow down time itself!

Timing is Everything

Hearing the garbage trucks and realizing I haven’t put out the bins yet, before stepping into the bathtub.
Having done the research ahead of time, I mixed up a small batch of compost to cook. My husband was always composter-in-chief until it got to be too much for him. And then I realized the date: his birthday! I believe he was with me, guiding me through the project.
And oops, letting the day get away from me, so that I’m late posting.

Hooray for Deadlines

Anticipating change is hard work. These last weeks I’ve spent more time throwing stones at what needed to be done than actually attacking the jobs. And after that “struggle”, I would settle down with something escapist so as not to think about the work. Or else, I did something entirely different, like switching furniture around in my den, which now does feel more comfortable—except for the stack of materials waiting to be sorted and not returned to the room.

I’m about to leave home to visit my daughter and son-in-law and have arrived at the one week mark. The immovable deadline is looming, almost at hand.

And what have I done?

Met with my house sitter.
Continued adding to a growing list of to-dos.
Followed my enthusiasm, which means I’ve (finally) been inspired to work really hard on revisions (which I won’t be taking with me—or is it because I have to leave it behind?).
Made appointments for Sophie: groomer on Friday, vet visit on Saturday. That will distract her before she sees the suitcase and frenzied last minute preparations, so that when she appears on Jane’s doorstep she’ll know she’s leaving home again—for a while. Jane says she always starts looking for me a day or two before I finally show up.

Sorry Sophie. I wish you could come too.

I’ll be back blogging in a couple weeks. Y’all stay well.

Second thoughts

Low moods, indecision, lack of forward momentum—everything seems to have me down-in-the-mouth this month. As my father pointed out once, there’s always more than one cause for any emotion.

June carries a lot of baggage: anniversary, birthday, annual vacation planning, a recent memorial service for someone we both knew, a departing minister and on and on.

I’ve concluded (with others) that the second year of loss is harder. In the first year, we’re advised to not make any sudden moves. But with the second year, nothing is telling me to take it easy and everything pushes me towards taking charge of who I am and where I’m headed.

Thank goodness for friends! Jane visited me for another discussion over tea and helped bring my struggles into context.

I’m in transition.

Transitions are neither easy nor comfortable.

I’m doing the best that I can.

As one who has trouble accessing my emotions, I love fiction. It’s so much easier to feel for—or even create—a fictional character, allowing me to indulge in vicarious feelings. And especially to cry.

Some recent media that have brought tears are:

The Trouble With Heroes (2025) a verse novel by Kate Messner. (The author is the source of a chart mentioned in a recent blog, and I decided to sample her work). This book is so beautifully constructed with interlinking themes that cohere into a brilliant picture of heroism and its costs. It takes climbing 46 Adirondack peaks for 12-year-old Finn to come to terms with his father’s life. As Finn says in a sonnet:

“The nightmares never leave. They never fade.

And heroes aren’t allowed to be afraid.”

West Side Story. I know the music so well, but did I ever watch it? I have no memory of doing so. A DVD found in the local Goodwill Story brought tears. Maybe I should reread Romeo and Juliet after all these years.

And finally The Human Comedy by William Saroyan was almost the victim of a recent book purge, but I set it aside to reread. A copy sat on my parents’ shelves when I was a kid, and I’m sure I reread it when I paid a dollar for my own copy (receipt still in the book) but even so, I’d forgotten just how much gentle philosophy and human kindness are imbedded in this wartime tale of a 14-year-old telegram deliverer. It’s a keeper.

Lost and Found

One of life’s lessons I keep relearning is that when I’m confused or down, the answer is to pick up pen or pencil and start writing. This will always be my answer—so why don’t I remember? Over and over, I lose sight of the doing, preferring to indulge in gloom and doom.

Or maybe the answer is to indulge in something that allows tears to flow—and then start writing!

Try it yourself if you feel the need.

It takes enthusiasm.

I’m trying to remember how all this began. A framed photo fell behind my desk (my immovable desk) over a year ago. Other than attempting to rescue it without moving the desk, I did nothing. It was too much effort.

In my last blog, I mentioned the chart to track Quantum Quest’s themes and characters. Once finished, I got enthusiastic about the prospect of—again—going through and revising the book, section by section. (The sections equal chapters, though I don’t call them that this time around.)

The charting was done at a table in another room because my desk was a mess. And no way could I begin to revise until I sorted out all those scattered notes that cluttered up that immovable object.

I could clear off the desktop. Or (trumpet sounds) the whole thing could be emptied out—so that the desk could be moved. Enthusiasm struck again.

On Saturday I cleared the desk and drawers. I also emptied out a filing cabinet because that had to be shifted too. Once the desk was dusted, I went off to the other room with that pile of loose papers to be reviewed, tossing most of them. Whew! I was tired!

On Sunday my moving crew (my sons) arrived. In no more than five minutes the desk was shifted, photograph rescued, floor swept, and it was back in place. The rest of the day was devoted to shifting furniture and restoring contents to drawers. Except—

I found a better spot for my printer—but to move that required the further emptying of two tall bookcases, shifting them a few inches, dusting and restoring the books. I even managed to cull a box of giveaways in the process.

On Monday, I dragged myself to do the final floor sweep. There are still some empty boxes and a pile of empty file folders to be sorted, but they will have to wait.

I am so tired! What took me so long to move that desk and rescue a photo? A lack of enthusiasm.

And now for the whole reason for all this—those book revisions. The enthusiasm for it is still inside somewhere, waiting for the energy to emerge.

Maybe next time, I’ll stick to cleaning off the desktop.