Summer’s back. I printed out the fourth draft of Presences of Absences, bought new colourful highlighters, flags, and post-it notes, and am heading into a different season of writing and editing away from the computer. Perfect timing. Because it’s time to sit on the deck and watch the finches, and on the grass in front of
It’s the wettest start to summer I can remember. Gloomy, but the garden seems to be enjoying it. The gardener, less so. According to the weather forecast, I’ll spend the day with words—writing, reading, with maybe a trip to the bookstore thrown in somewhere. Not a bad way to spend a day. # # #
It’s blustery, and not quite what I like the end of June to look like but we need the rain. It’ll be a good day to spend with words: nothing wrong with that. Perception is reality. It’s a good day to have a good day. And all that jazz.
Spring goes out like a petulant teenager. It’s cold. I pull on a hoodie, long pants, and socks (socks!) to stay warm, and close the doors and windows. When I pass by the den on the way downstairs to the woman cave to write, I spy Maya curled up on a blanket on the sofa wearing
In considering what to write about in this space today, I went back in time to June 2009 to see what was happening in my life and see what has changed since then (a lot!). In June 2009, I picked up a copy of Wm. Paul Young’s, The Shack on a dear friend’s recommendation. I
It’s afternoon and I’m on the deck with a book and Maya. I’ve tricked her into settling down and relaxing by putting her bed on a chair next to me and giving her a chew treat. Sometimes having a dog is like having a child. I’m reading The Home for Unwanted Girls by Joanna Goodman.
On another morning I’m sitting on the deck with books—reading, pausing to be present, and reading some more. A noisy bird down on the ridge behind the trees distracts me. I watch and wait to catch a glimpse of the quiet-stealer. It turns out to be not one, but two, hawks, and of them has