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?”

Sticks (no stones or bones) 

Saturday, Sophie came home from a walk carrying a stick (a thin branch). I took it away and gave her a chew stick.

Other times, when she had a chew stick, she demolished it immediately, swallowing whole chunks. 

This time, she carried the chew stick around for three days, much the way she carries her toys , sometimes looking for a place to bury it.

Finally, today, she settled down to really work on it.

February report

Weather can be beautiful in February. We’ve had a number of sunny days, a couple getting up to 60 degrees. 

Saturday, I planted an old packet of sugar snap pea seeds after soaking them. If they sprout, they should be ready to be replaced by the time I want to plant tomatoes. And maybe, just maybe, the legumes will leave some nitrogen in the soil with their passing.

Today it snowed.

Bare Sticks, no I mean Bones . . .

Every year, there comes a time when I admire the bare bones of trees. If I chew on sticks, it’s only with my eyes. Even our slow-to-drop-its-leaves oak tree is bare by now.

This is the last month trees can show off their inner beauty before they start sprouting greenery again.

Everyone, be well!

Ironies—

A brief report this week, due to non-writing pursuits. My focus has been on taxes (I was late last year), and some personal issues. 

Ironically, that means I’m spending more time watching DVDs while knitting a cap, activities to counteract the tedium which dries up my creative juices.

I found the yarn in a thrift store:

Seeds—

Taking advantage of Saturday’s sunshine, I planted the second third of the row (kale, spinach, snap peas). What I encountered was frozen soil, aside from the dry layer on top. From niece Sandy’s suggestion, I covered the seeds with wood to keep the moisture in.

Then on top of that, I spread a black garbage bag for warmth (which now makes the wood redundant). Oh well. Once they sprout, they’ll both go away.

And with the enthusiam that February’s normally sunny days bring, I’m about to begin sprouting more seeds indoors.

At home—

Breakfast was mushrooms on toast. I’ve got a batch of seedy whole wheat bread almost ready for kneading. And most days, I continue to put one word in front of another, even if it’s revision and nothing new.

Y’all have a great week!

Our intentions—

You might remember my “intention” of experiencing something new every week. I hadn’t come up with any ideas for this past week.

I do believe the cosmos (whatever name you go by) responds to our sincere needs (whether we want it to or not). A new experience did happen. It left me with questions and a certain amount of angst. 

On the streets—

Back before Covid, I used to walk two miles to a coffee shop for early morning tea. Street people occasionally asked me for change. Sometimes, it was easy to say no. But other times haunted me, particularly if it was a woman. So I began carrying a dollar or two, ready at hand in my back jeans pocket.

During the Covid hiatus, when the coffee shop was closed or with limited hours, I learned to enjoy that quiet time at home. I do miss those quiet walks into the dawn, though.

Recently, I was carrying a 50 dollar bill in my wallet. Being short on singles, I accidentally handed it to a cashier in a thrift store. Realizing my mistake, I switched it for a 20. I folded it up so I wouldn’t make that mistake again. 

What happened—

This past Saturday, we were heading for the car with our groceries when I was accosted by a desperate woman. My husband put his bag in the car trunk and then got inside and waited. I loaded my bags while trying to make sense of what this woman was saying.

I was only half-sold on her story. It was her desperation that I bought into. On a cold day, I’d feel for anyone asking help. The amount she needed was $47 and change. 

I reached in and pulled out that fateful 50 dollar bill. She broke down when I gave it to her, and I held her in a hug. 

Second thoughts—

My attention had been divided between the woman on one side, my car, groceries, husband, and the day’s demands on the other. As soon as we left her, I saw all the holes and inconsistencies in her story. I knew I’d been lied to.

I don’t know her real story.  But the woman was real. The hug was real. Her relief was real. 

Did I provide funds for her next drug fix? Or for a safe place to stay? Not knowing bothers me, a lot, but . . . It is what it is.

The hug was real. My caring was real. That’s all I can own.

The planting experiment—

was postponed, due to a cold snap. I hope to set out the next batch of seeds next weekend. I have ideas of adding a second cover, a black one, to collect a little more of the sun’s heat.

Even Sophie enjoys the new—

I wanted to pick up a book at the library Sunday afternoon, so we took Sophie along and walked her in the adjoining park—new place, new smells, new experience.

Sophie was a happy, excited dog. Then we all came home so she could take a nap.