Kate Harrington

WEEDS

In the backyard, I’m digging out this year’s crop of unwanteds. In particular, wild mustards delighted in our unusual number of winter and early spring rains. You can find mustards all over the city, and especially in my backyard.

In previous years, we’ve had volunteer larkspurs which I’ve protected until their lovely blue blossoms faded away. I haven’t found a one this year.

Before beginning, I tasted a mustard leaf. It wasn’t nearly as bitter as I expected. Hmm. Unlike those questionable mushrooms that popped up in a raised bed, I could eat them.

Nah.

I began slaughtering weeds, using a shovel and large collecting bucket, dumping mustard carcasses in a heap against the back wall where they’ll compost themselves.

But yesterday I let an inspector in through the side gate, apologizing for the weeds there. After he left, I decided to work in that area before anyone else used the gate.

Those mustards had been more pampered, with shade, and moisture. They were taller, with bigger leaves. I collected a bunch and carried the mess into the kitchen where I stuck them in a bucket. Later, I trimmed off the best looking leaves, washed and bagged them, and dumped the stalks.

I ate some this morning along with an egg. A little tough, but okay. Maybe chopped up in a stirfry next?

Which brings to mind the two oak trees in our front yard that spill so many acorns every year. One time an escaped pig settled in under the chinquapin oak (she knew which acorns were the sweet ones) and was chomping away until we got her removed.

People are starving in the world. Why not consume them ourselves? I’ve thought of trying them more than once, but . . .

Other weedings:

Weeding in the library used to be one of my favorite jobs—culling the unwanted, the battered, the overly-loved books to make room for new titles.

As a writer, I hang onto far too many bits of paper. I’m currently weeding out notes to myself, early drafts, ideas, etc. . . .

And then there’s always junk mail . . .

Spring Sprang. Now what?

Weather went hot the day after Easter.

Momentarily, anyway.

So far we’ve had mostly strong winds and cold air. Of course, in New Mexico, it can change in an instant. But I’m thinking this era of climate change is going to rob New Mexico of any spring at all. It feels like we’re moving from winter into summer.

Apologies to my readers. I’ve been immersed in work, so the blog is going to suffer this week.

Warm wishes to all for a spring-full week.

April is Poetry Month

One of my writer friends emails out a poem a day in April. It’s lovely to receive the great variety she selects. I’m not going to emulate her daily discipline, but here’s a poem and a few thoughts to share with you.

Most of my early attempts at poetry centered around emotional times. My first college love. My failing marriage. Having been happily married for many years, I have to go back to an earlier time to find personal poems.

I guess that’s why verse novels have become such a part of my life. They let me put words to my character’s angst, while living my own life on a more even keel.

Taking a Walk remained only four lines for a long time, until a poet critiquer told me there was more to say. So I added two more verses. Years later, in a calligraphy class, I made a little booklet on labyrinths, and created a different set of verses to accompany those first four lines.

So here’s to labyrinths and finding our way home to ourselves.

Taking a Walk

Taking a walk around the block

circles from and back again.

Rather would I walk from toward

for we always take back with us.
*
Taking a path through the labyrinth—

though Theseus cheated with a string—

he knew the game was only won

by facing the monster found within.

*

You can never go wrong in the maze of life

unless you stand still— Even then—

no matter where on the road you wait

you meet yourself, again and again.
Kate Harrington

Variations on a Theme

I was without ideas for a blog this week, not wanting to write about the elimination diet I’m on for a gastro-intestinal issue. But really, I only needed to bring my focus to the outer world to find related topics.

An Eruption of Mushrooms

Mushrooms erupted in a corner of one of the raised garden beds—right where the sugar snap peas were supposed to be—but are not—sprouting.

Does anyone know what these are? Are they edible? They look to me exactly like the white button sort in the grocery store, but a whole lot larger.

I had been mourning the fact that mushrooms are not on my current diet. Maybe I’ll be relieved, instead.

Differing Opinions on Odors

And then there’s Sophie’s taste in—well, not exactly food, let’s say, her taste for—odors.

I had bought fish emulsion a year or two back, to fertilize my very reluctant vegetable garden. Later, when I began using it on a couple house plants. Sophie would sniff with great interest.

She and I differ about what smells good!

I now have a small crop of vegetables sprouting, getting a head start on the summer. Having a weak solution of fish emulsion on hand, I watered them with it, without taking into account that the pots are on the floor.

Sophie tracked down the scent and apparently tried sucking that “delicious” stink off three cherry tomato starts before I caught her. The poor stalks were limp (terrified, no doubt).

From now on, their replacements will have to drink plain water—at least until they’re out of Sophie’s reach.

Spring?

We’ve had a cold and wet week. Although rain is always appreciated here, cold winds are not.

Sending warm wishes to all!

Labyrinths

I’ve had a long love affair with labyrinths. I’ve stitched them, sketched them, and walked them—though never often enough.

Last week my husband and I had two errands to run. The day was a break in the stormy weather we’ve been having. Our first errand completed, we arrived at the second with too much time on our hands. I knew the nearby church hosts a labyrinth, and we decided to walk it.

After the first bend or two, my jangled thoughts smoothed out, calmed by the measured pace of following the path. An added plus was knowing I wasn’t alone. My husband followed, a silent, steady companion.

I find meditation difficult, preferring group meditation, where I can’t simply follow my impulses to quit early. In the same way, I’m a better maze walker with someone else’s expectations keeping me within the pattern.

We finished all the curves and turns right on time for our next appointment.

Labyrinthine Plots

As a novel writer, I can’t help comparing labyrinths to plotting a novel. In the early pages, the main character has a goal or dilemma in mind. The MC circles that goal, first on one side, then the other. That dream of reaching the goal or solving the problem appears to be so near, within the bounds of possibility.

And then the path moves farther and farther from center. When hope is all but lost, one last turn leads straight into the heart of the maze.

As for my science fiction plot, I’ll know when my hero reaches center, but right now we’re on that outside ring and “we” have found some blockages. Actually, it feels more like a maze (with dead ends) than a labyrinth with a single path. But I know there’s a way.

The verse novel, on the other hand, works better with the labyrinth metaphor. Its ending is fixed. That’s those outer rings. But the the first two-thirds (inner rings) contain too many steps for the space allowed. I’m having to prune words to keep my heroine moving steadily forward.

Happy springtime to all!

Darn Birds!

I like birds. I worry about their numbers as the climate changes.

But they like my sprouts! Why don’t they eat the wild mustard weeds that are all over the place?

The wind had torn off the frost covers, and I was enjoying the clear view of my spinach—until birds came nibbling. The beds are covered again.

Speaking of predators, I had thought by planting the kale early, I’d avoid those white cabbage moths, but I’m seeing them everywhere; so the frost covers will remain—probably forever—except for the peas.

A good thing the plants can push it up as they grow.

Here’s hoping our apricots don’t freeze this year. There’s still time for a cold snap . . .

Other News.

Between the time change, appointments, and demanding household matters, my days have been frustratingly unproductive.

Our two power outages killed the microwave and also the clothes dryer. Fortunately the dryer only needs a new fuse, but since it melted solid, we’re waiting on a replacement part.

However, I’m looking for ways to get more exercise (unresolved so far), and have renewed efforts to make progress in my verse novel edits. Sometimes, I look at the whole and want to run.

The answer is to keep each day’s goal measurable. Wish me luck!

How’s your week going?

Spring is coming

Our bulbs seem taller each day. Here’s a garden report:

The spinach is sprouting. I planted the seeds in three batches, two weeks apart. The seeds didn’t care. They all decided when it was time and began popping up.

The kale is a little more reluctant. And so far, nothing from the snap peas in the same planter. BUT!—

I had soaked and planted an older packet of snap peas in a different planter, before giving up on them—

THEY are making an appearance. So yes, I’m back to watering that planter as well.

And here’s a report on writing to music:

I work best to CDs. The sudden silence at the end of a disc lets me know it’s time for a break. (At least, for those times I’ve actually been concentrating,)

More than any other music to work by, I’ve played a CD found many years ago in a Goodwill Store: Theta Meditation System, from The Relaxation Company.

When working on my verse novel — my current state of affairs — the Celtic strains of Loreena McKennitt set me in the right state of mind for my heroine.

I hope you all have a great week!

The Ups and Downs of a Writer

One piece of writing advice has always stayed with me. Use everything. Grief? Don’t waste it. Fury? Desperation? All our moods and experiences serve us well when we mine them for our work.

I didn’t get much work done last week. Appointments occupied the first three days. On Wednesday I drove home through a wind storm, arriving to find the garage door wouldn’t open. The power was out.

For nine hours, the power was out. At 11:30 pm, I got up to turn off the odd light and blow out the odd candle. I got back into bed only to realize I hadn’t closed the fireplace damper. Up again. An exceedingly unrestful night ensued.

I got up grumpy.

In the morning I went to my laptop for my most pleasurable pursuit—playing around with turning prose into verse, in this case, a tale with three points of view.

My grumpy mood turned out to be the ideal state of mind when dealing with the story’s “villainess.” That cheered me up.

Actually, I’ll probably leave the manuscript in prose, but even experimenting with verse can enrich the end product.

Unfortunately, that was the only writing I did. Fatigue cost me most of that day and the next.

The saga continues into this week. A second wind storm took out our power on Sunday, this time for 22 hours. But that’s another story.

“No lights? No internet? No heat? Take a nap. Just don’t forget to feed me.”

Change

Many of my poems deal with change—particularly my own need to change, to become who I am supposed to be.

Here’s another love poem, written years ago. In fact, written while driving home after we spent a weekend backpacking. That whole drive, from his place to my own, I was composing these lines, and—except for an initial stop sign—I never once paused the car, through city streets, the freeway on-ramp, exiting on the other side of town, arriving home—nonstop, every light was green.

That’s the rare magic of being so completely in the moment.

My days are too full
to guard you in yonder high tower.
	You are free to change,
	to move about at will.

My hands are too busy
to bind you in stone’s cold keeping.
	Each time we meet is new,
	your skin so smooth, so warm.

My love is too warm
to freeze you in memory’s glass coffin.
	You are free to change.
	And I am just as free.

My heart knows so much, I fear to listen,
to be as free as that.
	I want something unchanging.
	Yet nothing is immutable.

Only nothing is immutable.

10/12/1989

Our first crocus.

Some garden news—

The spinach planted on January 14th is sprouting!

Operating on Automatic

Left Brain vs Right

Sometimes the thinking mind isn’t that brilliant. And maybe I depend on it a little too much. I’ve found that clearing and sorting out chaos frees up thought.

A week or so ago, I got busy emptying boxes of old papers and magazines, and came across the original (like written in the dark ages) manuscript of my sci-fi story when it was only one novel in length, and definitely behind the times in science. I glanced through it, and decided to at least read the part leading to the climax.

Immediately, resistance set in:

“It’ll be awful.”

“But there might be treasures there!”

“I don’ wanna.”

“Okay, then, set a timer for ten minutes? See how far you get.”

And what happened? Would you believe??? —

TAXES became a far more desirable task than that little ten minute goal.

A Day on Automatic Drive

I spent most of Monday working on automatic drive—with complaints, with throwing up my hands, but driven to finish the job—quite amazing myself. Tax paperwork is packaged; a date set for delivery to our accountant. Hooray!

Taxes now off my mind, I woke in the night with an idea—a smidgen of a scene—for my unfinished trilogy. I never would have gotten the idea while tied to tax deadlines.

Relax and De-Stress

Our complicated lives can often feel overwhelming. I shun social media, but it’s impossible to ignore taxes. Advice to self: Just breathe. And keep a piece of life clutter-free—which means clearing out old messes — to free up those little grey cells. (thanks, Poirot.)

Sophie’s schedule: two meals a day/ a few trips outside / lots of naps.

“Is it time for my walk?”