Gerry returns from the sea with sufficient salmon to feed us for the coming year, and the sizzling heat of the past week gives way to a gentle rain. The silence of the past few days becomes the sound of living our ordinary days. I needed the solitude and silence and protected the boundaries I
Oh hi. I don't usually see you around here at this time of day. I'm not often here at this time of day (closing in on noon) but today isn't an ordinary day. I think I broke my foot last night. Well, maybe I didn't break it but I sure did something to it when
Today, another fit. Or maybe a start. I don’t know. I’ve kind of lost track. The other day the thought came unbidden: I’m looking forward to fall. I know. I’m aghast too. But this waiting and hoping, one day of sunshine followed by two more of gray, all the ups and downs and ins and
I spend all day working on a pivotal chapter in Presences of Absences, condensing a couple of pages into a single paragraph. Papa Hemingway advises us to write “hard and clear”. I spend hours trying to craft such a paragraph. I tweak and tweak again, rearranging words and sentences, and reading the thing out loud.
It’s just after dawn. The first magical rays of sun have just kissed my little part of the world. I’m back from being out in the yard, barefoot on the cool dewy grass, taking photos. I’d like to show you the magic but I’m not of the mind to open my laptop, download, and process
I’m slipping back into retreat this morning as my mind shifts back to writer mode. But the green beans I spied in the garden yesterday, when I watered for the first time after a soggy week, nag me. I’m pretty good at filtering out distractions in favour of writing time. But those beans. Dang.
Oh, hello. Remember me? Just popping in to say good morning. I’ve been on writing retreat this week. It’s been delicious to pull back and focus on the work. I’m getting clarity with Presences of Absences as I continue to weave the tapestry of a story about learning to listen. It’s hard, satisfying work and it makes
And . . . it’s raining. It’s a strange summer that’s unfolding. I spend time organizing my manuscript, my writing paraphernalia, and recipes because I’m setting intentions in the kitchen too. I’m letting the book rest for a few days, anticipating an opportunity for concentrated focus time soon, and the opportunity to putter at home
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.