Moving into a New Season

Don’t you wish you had one of these bird-cats? It freaks me out and makes me happy at the same time.

I’m gearing up for a writing binge. I was psychologically “on hold” until my mom died, but after months of waiting/cringing/grieving, she has decided to go with her own schedule. So I’m doing my best to get back into the swing of things.

I’m in search of a new writing community! I have a kick-ass crit partner, but I’m angsting for romantic fantasy/literary types to network with. I feel less in tune with romance writing communities (only because of the strong emphasis on erotic content) and hope to find a circle of those who feel the same. Any thoughts?

Fall on campus always brings about a feeling of renewal for me. The football team is here, and next week, the place will be crawling with the little prepsters. It makes me want to write for some reason.

Husband and I have been busy redecorating and painting. Well, he did the painting and I did the redecorating. Thank God that’s over.

Now to go clothes shopping. I have lost two clothes sizes and seriously have nothing to wear. So, how boring am I? Happy Labor Day, everyone.

Summer Winding Down

How did it get to be the dog days of summer? A few more weekends in August! Well, this photo of my husband’s is one of my favorites, because it really captures the spirit of weekends when we’re home. We hang out with friends on a boat (when it’s running we actually go out on the water), grab dinner, and maybe walk the beach searching for that perfect seashell. Once in a while we’ll go into a shop to see how my husband’s greeting cards or prints are selling. But soon, the island will be empty except for older folk or die-hards, the shops will close, and the boat will be drydocked.

I alternate weekends to see Mom, and I think there are just a few more of those out of town before the end. And now, I have a lovely new writing cubby my husband created for me to have a “space of my own.” So by the end of August, I’m ordered to write more and pine less. The goal is back to 1,000 words a day. I have the feeling that recent experiences will color my writing.

Bought a boatload of beading stuff, so be careful or I’ll end up making you some jewelry and then you’ll have to act like you like it! It’s weird steampunk stuff.

When a Tumbler Isn’t a Tumbler

Summer, 1961 or so, row house Baltimore, back yard with sprinkler (no one had a pool, or even a blow-up pool). You jumped over a sprinkler and you liked it, damn it. The big treat? Kool-aid in one of these tumblers, with ice. The condensation on the outside would drip onto your hot skin (overly burned–because your parents don’t understand that one day you’ll have little suspicious spots taken off your body because no one used sunscreen). And they liked the sunburn, damn it.

Along with thoughts of these tumblers–the old men. Black men, weathered like tired tree bark, from too much hard work, too much sun, too little money. They seemed like they were about 200 years old to me, but who knows? They would come in their horse-drawn carts, each singing a different song to go with their wares–”straaaaawberries, fresh ripe straaaaawberries.” If I was lucky, I’d be the one to get the quarter to go out and get a pint. Cause the men always let you pat the horse. Poor old horses. One day I got to take a bucket to the horse so he could have a drink it was so hot out. Mom came running out after me, all flushed. “Oh, God,” she said, pushing a tumbler of iced tea into my hand, “I’m giving the horse water and look at the poor old man.” With a rather old-fashioned tip of his hat that would somehow make me uncomfortable if I saw it today, the man downed the tea and asked for more. I ran like the wind and got him more, and still it wasn’t enough. After a third tumbler, he wiped his brow and hoisted me onto his horse. That’s the last time I was on a horse.

I got the tumbler back and put it in the sink. I’m sure we used them many, many times after that day, but I don’t remember doing so. All I know is that I saw these on the Internet in a vintage “store,” and couldn’t bring myself to buy them. They make me cry. Cause Mom is dying, the old man is long gone (and of course so is the horse), that street in Baltimore is in blight, and I just don’t have the heart.

Is there anything like that for you?

It’s My Party and I’ll Smile if I Want To

On Wednesday, I turn *cough*. That’s a milestone plus one. Leos are notoriously egocentric, introspective, proud, generous, gregarious, and, of course, brilliant. Ha ha. I’m all those things. I noticed a lot of my contemporaries rushing around trying to fit in things they wanted to do for years–see Paris, go rock-climbing, learn ballroom dancing. I’m really not like that. I thought of the things I never did:
I never rode a bicycle.
I never learned to skate, and thus never skated in Central Park (the only one in my family not to, perhaps).
I never learned to take a compliment well.
I really can’t swim. I can snorkel with a vest on, and do so as often as possible.
I’ve never been to the Southern Hemisphere.
I’ve never (to my knowledge) killed, trapped, skinned, or done anything else to an animal.
I’ve never hit anyone, except in martial arts.
I never had a child.
I can’t ski.

I don’t think I want to undo any of those, and a few I can’t change now. I suppose I could adopt a med student or something, but that would be pretty selfish.

On the other hand, I’ve done some rather odd things:
I accidentally sat (more of a weary lean) on the Rosetta Stone.
I accidentally put a pickaxe through the skull of a Neolithic skeleton. I think my Professor nearly turned the axe on me after that one.
I published some books, even though I never thought of becoming a writer before I finished a novel. I even had a booksigning, not knowing that it’s not really my kind of thing.
I bungee jumped. I won’t do that again. Don’t dare me.
I walked down the street half naked. That’s a long story, and naked worked a lot better back then.
I married twice.

I can’t wait to see what strange things are around the corner. Paris can wait until my next life.