I'm Home!

Got back from The Clearing yesterday afternoon and I've had a brutz on every since. (A brutz is what Grandma called a pout.) I don't wanna be home. I don't wanna do chores. I wanna be in my chilly little cabin in the woods writing. The Word Fairy didn't come visit me until Friday morning so I want at least four more days, preferably six, up there. It's only fair. One good thing, we met for prompt writing every morning after breakfast in the Lodge so I've got pages of writing to share. I'll give you a bit today, maybe more later, and parcel out the rest in the next few days. No whining now, I know you missed me but it was important that I be away. I'm a much happier camper over all, except for that case of post-Clearing blahs that persists. It'll be gone in a day or two, I'm sure.

October 2--Calangaman Island, Philippines. Clouds piled like spoiled mashed potatoes, purple and bruised, ahead of the wind. An unexpected cool floated on the rising breeze and the calm little bay ruffled with foamy white, making the day-trippers pause and rub sudden goosebumps. "No one said anything about a storm," Nina said to Max. They had been wrapped up in watching the reef fish as they snorkeled around the small protected bay of the uninhabited island, not noticing as one by one the excursion boats fired up and sailed off. Theirs was the last boat bobbing in the once-calm bay, the little blue and white craft bucking on the anchor line like an impatient sled dog. The sky was a uniform gray black and thunder rumbled in the west. Max reached the boat first and held onto the gunwale as he stripped off his fins and tossed them aboard. He held out his hand to Nina and drew her to his side, steadying her while she took off her fins and then boosting her aboard. He rolled over the side after her and made his way to the outboard.

Monday, Oct. 4 morning prompt. Eyes followed her, often. Dogs too. She wore clothes that she chose with her eyes closed, both when she bought them and when she chose them to wear. She had a habit of carrying a salami in her purse that she used to make a point in the heated discussions she held with the gerbil that lived in her pocket. People thought she was deranged talking to herself but once she introduced them to Higby, the gerbil, they were certain of it. She lived in the house her grandpa built after he had fled the Klondike with a chest of gold from the mines. He changed his name and built the biggest house in Pekin, Illinois in 1911. Chester B. Harlow was his name and he set himself up as a retired miner spinning tales of his totally fabricated exploits in the Klondike. By the time she was born the story had been repeated so many times that even the family thought it was the truth. She had been saddled with the name Klondike Xaviera Harlow which was quite enough of a burden that she let reason, sanity, and convention go early in her life.

I make no excuses for this writing. It was fast and furious and I just went where the words led. It was fun.
--Barbara

Drunk With Yarn *Lots of Pictures*

I returned yesterday from a week's writing retreat. I had a great time up in the woods of northern Door County with a group of enthusiastic writing women who lifted my spirits and got me back to the page. Thanks, you Incredible writing women!






On my way up I dawdled. I stopped in Sturgeon Bay at Spin and picked a few skeins out of their 40% off baskets to use to make a narrow fashion scarf. (See it there at the top of the picture? I'll explain in a minute.) I had a difficult time resisting the shelf after shelf of variegated yarn. I have to confess that 2 skeins of Plymouth Happy Feet leaped into my bag too.













After stopping a few times to take pictures of the fall colors and the waves stirred by the wind along the way, I visited Red Sock Yarns in Fish Creek. I was amazed to see that most of her yarn is solid color, except for the sock yarn. I had a devil of a time finding a couple variegated skeins to buy but I managed.




Once I got to The Clearing, moved into my cabin and unpacked, I took the 2 skeins of Gedifra Fiorista cotton and poly yarn I'd bought and went out to sit in the sun and knit. I cast on 12 stitches on my 7.0mm needles and got started. It went fast. I could knit and talk, getting up from time to time to hug an old friend, and got nearly through the first skein before I turned in. On Sunday I took a walk but mostly spent the time in my sunny spot knitting and waiting for the rest of my camp-mates to arrive. The session started officially at 6 PM when we met for supper, but I still managed to wrap up the 2-skein scarf by 11 that night, meaning I had a brand new scarf to wear on the first day of class.


All week long I was glad that it was cool in the morning so I could wear my new scarf and I was very careful not to dribble food on it at meals. (I have a problem with that.) I cast on another scarf with a pretty and bulky variegated wool, but it just isn't as addictive as the cotton one was. By mid-week I was trying to remember if there had been more of that yarn in the basket at Spin. I did NOT waste my Thursday afternoon off driving an hour back to Sturgeon Bay to check but I knew I'd stop on my way home on Saturday.




On our Thursday afternoon off, Laurel and I drove down to Cave Point County Park and walked along the shore/bluff to Whitefish Dunes State Park and spent some time on the beach. It was a glorious sunny day and we really had a blast. The water at Cave Point was shallow and sparkle-y and as waves came in over the white sand bottom it looked warm and Caribbean-y but it was not. About a mile down the trail we were able to clamber down to the water and even in the shallow pools the water was chilly. It only LOOKED warm. The coolest thing was that the sand squeaked. Really! You stepped on it and it squeaked. You could brush your hand across it and it'd squeak too. It wasn't wet either. I'm going to have to do some research online. Maybe call someone at the park. Now wouldn't that have been a good idea, to talk to someone that day when we were there? I'm getting used to being smart too late.






I did stop at Spin on my way home yesterday and there were 3 more skeins of that cotton Gedifra Fiorista yarn, 3 different colors of course, but I still got it. I don't mind if the skeins don't match. There were some skeins of Classic Elite Yarns Montera Llama and Wool too. Also 40% off, so I bought the last 2 Falcon Gray ones and 2 of the Red ones. I already have 2 white/natural ones so now I've got enough of it to actually make something with it. Maybe a purse. And to go along with the Dalegarn Ara skeins I got from the sale baskets the two previous times I was there I just had to get a skein of each of the three new, more vivid colors she had. What can I say? I'm a sucker for variegated in bright colors.


I had a fabulous week. Durwood showed the duplex twice and I did once after I got home, the ad's in the paper this weekend. We're still fine-tuning it and hoping to have it rented by Nov. 1. Anybody need a place to live? It's at 1508 N. Mennen Ct. in Green Bay, WI and it's on craigslist.com.

Friday

I have been off on what day it is all week. On Wednesday, I thought was Friday and today feels like Saturday. There is no such thing as time anyway -- at least not this week at my house.
I am curious as to who won the Crazy Sock contest at the Women's Writing Retreat this week. Last year Barbara took it home, even tho I thought my socks were fairly wild and crazy. I'm sure we'll hear about it tomorrow or Sunday --

*****
The flowers arrived in the afternoon. Lauren personally vouched for the florist, and security gave car and driver a brief scan before opening the gate.

The arrangement was two feet wide, three and half feet tall, with purple hydrangeas, red roses, baby's breath and a dense assortment of gold mums and green ferns.  Lauren directed the young man to the foyer and the antique oak table, that shipped from Spain in 1789.

When he left, Lauren stood back and admired the flowers, pleased with the warmth they brought to the house. Happiness swelled to laughter. It was good to be home, back at the Casa where she belonged.

A miniature camera concealed on the stem of a red rose captured her joy.

Tuesday - 10/5

I know I have to stop saying "where has this year gone?" Time has sped up, the years feel as though they are evaporating and I seem to be standing on the sidelines with my mouth open asking what happened to the month before or six months before or the year(s) before. Is it just me or are we living at warp-speed? And where has this year gone!?

****
She took 280 from the San Francisco airport toward Los Lumbres. So much had changed in the five years that she'd been in hiding -- traffic was heavier, more houses dotted the foothills, but the mountains that separating the valley from the ocean remained green and solid. The fog from Half Moon Bay flowed over the top like thick foam.

The closer she got to the turn off to Los Lumbres, the more Lauren questioned if coming alone was a good idea. Maybe she should have called her Uncle Bernie, or hired a body guard, or stayed at a hotel. She could always turn back. She drove on toward the estate -- in for a penny, in for a pound, as her grandmother used to say.

Autumn Arrived Today (picture heavy post)

It's been fall-ish lately, but this morning when I was walking from 1508 after I finished cleaning I looked up at the maple tree in the front yard and it suddenly had red leaves. All the leaves were green yesterday, I swear it. I finally figured out how to make the ad show up on craigslist.org which was a real relief. Maybe we'll have a renter by November. Keep your fingers crossed.



Dusty and I walked on the trail this morning and there were hardly any other people there. We saw a big gray egret in the river, which was a flat as a mirror, lots of wild grapes (some had orange tags tied to them so someone can come and harvest them, we figured),


















and we walked down to see the "secret house." It's all by itself at the river end of a tiny street with a lot of growth around it and it looks uninhabited. I could be very happy there, I think, being the creepy lady at the end of Lazarre Ave.










I made a big pot of chicken mushroom soup this afternoon because I'd gotten a couple of deli chickens on sale at the Pig last weekend and a bag of crimini mushrooms at the farmer's market and didn't want any of it to go bad while I'm away. I had a cup of it for supper. It's good.








The other day Mom stopped at the dive shop and admired the scarf I was knitting. She ordered a velour pantsuit that would look great with the colors so I offered to give her the scarf. It wasn't too hard to convince her to take it. I finished it at work yesterday, put on the fringe last night, and delivered it this afternoon. She liked it.








Last year Judy, who teaches the Women's Writing Retreat I'm going to, taught an afternoon lesson about writing that knocks your socks off. She held an extemporaneous wacky sock contest. I won. That was not a surprise since I regularly wear wacky and mismatched socks, no one else really stood a chance. Her husband was up there taking a print class so he made me an award.








This year Judy emailed me and said she was planning to have the sock contest again and, since David's not going to be in an art class, would I make an award. I said sure. One trip to Goodwill and I had a pair of kids' socks with duckies and a frame. I had a pencil that looks like a twig and I got some burlap and sticky foam letters at Jo-Ann. Voila! Hope this is what she had in mind. Durwood and I had fun putting it together today but I burned my fingers on the hot glue--as usual.


I won't be posting for a week, I'm off to The Clearing for a week of writing workshop and peace in the woods. I won't be thinking about you much at all. Sorry.

Done! Or I Quit. Take Your Pick.

This morning I brought all the cleaning stuff back home from 1508--the vacuum, the stepstool, buckets filled with various cleaners and degreasers, assorted sponges and rags, and one very hard-used pair of rubber gloves. I tossed the newspapers that kept the caustic grease cutters off the counter and kitchen carpet and I did an interpretive dance with the broom in the basement to remove too many cobwebs to count. Ick. And by the way, how come we call them cobwebs? I thought cobs were broken-down horses or a convenient corn delivery system. The carpet cleaners have come and gone and I got the first phone call from the ad on craigslist. Whew. Now I can pack for my week at The Clearing.

September 30--Palau. Arsen slowed down so that the boat was barely moving. His head swiveled as he maneuvered between two of the Rock Islands. Clarice thought that the islands looked like green toadstool tops jutting out of the sea, and this close up the jungle covering their steep sides looked impenetrable. Every day after the first dive their guide Fern would get Arsen the boat captain to take them someplace special to eat their box lunches. The first day it had been a deserted island with a broad beach. The next day they had zoomed around a protected bay with their feet dangling off the boat's bow while dolphins rode the bow wave and bumped their feet. Today he threaded the boat through a narrow channel between two of the islands to a still lake where the green jungle crowded close and orchids hung over the water. Clarice and the other divers hurried through their lunches and then donned their snorkeling gear to fin over the wreck of a WWII Japanese seaplane that sat on the bottom providing a home for brightly colored soft corals and darting reef fish.

Okay, now my chicken mushroom soup is simmering, making the house smell great, so it's time to begin packing.
--Barbara

Friday - On a Jet Plane

Boarding passes are printed, bags are yet to be packed, and that's okay -- it's a short trip to DC and the  One Nation March on Washington. I am amazed at how intimidated I have been with the anger of the Tea Party, Republican friends (the few I have) and the vitriol of the media. I decided to take part in One Nation because I believe in this country and trust "this too shall pass" and we'll get back to civility and working together for the good of all.

In the meantime -- here's a great article on writing -- http://broadsideblog.wordpress.com/2010/09/28/ten-ways-to-seriously-improve-your-writing/

Suggestion #1 -- put your butt in the chair and write. Where have we heard that one before.

****
The rain obliterated the view of the Thames and Sloan street down below. Lost in memories, Lauren watched the water run down the glass in abstract rivers. Some one knew who she was, where she was, but how?  Who? She'd lived the past five years safe as Grace Delaney and in the opening of one letter, that safety, that security was gone. Now she had to decide -- stay in London and risk losing everything, including the family estate, or go back and risk losing her life.