In April, two writers from my writing group came to visit for a week - a face to face immersion with familiar strangers. They convinced me to drive to Sacramento with them at the end of their visit, where we'd meet up with three others from our group. Strange as the whole thing felt, I kept saying yes. I was trepidatious to say the least...
I Will Always
I will always think fondly of California's warmer winters as I shiver here up north. Something in me refuses to fully embrace the Pacific Northwest cold. At the same time, I will always appreciate springtime here; the jubilance of those first radiant hellebores, the indefatigable daffodils waving their bright colors like flags, the bright glow of skunk cabbage in a swamp, and trillium, delightful spring harbingers, the robins of the flower world. Just when I practically give up, give in, and withdraw into a mossy ball in the corner of the couch, spring awakens outside and in.
New Car New Me
In which we buy a car, and it's fraught with pitfalls. The pandemic makes the ordeal even more arduous. In addition, there's shifting priorities as I age, my dear old VW bug, and David Crosby of course.
On This Day
Early November, pre-election time. Some years I'm poised at the edge, days fraught with worry or full of hope. Other years I pass the time with lighthearted endeavors. I don't actually remember - it's what I posted on Facebook.
A Change of Pace
I've made several changes since moving and retiring. Not exactly reinventing myself, more like seeing what fits, what's stale, what's no longer needed, wanting to create a more intentional life. I'm still the same me I was before moving, but I do feel different. The shifts have been a mix of purposeful, accidental, and unexpected.
My feelings about the change of seasons haven't changed. The shift comes as an affront to my sensibilities. I seem to write this way every fall equinox. I'm always sad to bid goodbye to summer. I love the heat, the fewer clothes, the lush garden; the carefree part is a visceral memory of childhood. I'm still adjusting to the seasons here, and perhaps always will.
It's an in-between time around here. Red, yellow, and orange leaves cover the ground and linger in the tree branches, hanging on til the next big winds. Rain alternates between torrents and sprinkles. I've just been in a "should I stay or should I go" sort of mood.
52 Steps to Becoming a Writer
Anyone can become a writer. It hasn't been a straight path or an easy journey for me. But here are 52 steps that will get you on your way.
Round in Circles
Here I go walking in circles again. If it's not one direction out my front door, it's the other, always in circles, round and round the neighborhood, looping past the same houses, same yards, same trees.
Adaptation comes little by little, accepting what I must, embracing what I can, trying to not tip over. I can do this, I can do this. I have no choice.