I was up all night and so am extremely tired today. Just woke from my nap in a patch of sunshine to find Marcel napping like this:
The nose is a little large for Marcel’s face, but I’m glad to see he’s embraced Frank’s advice.
Dare to wear the foolish clown face.
~ Frank Sinatra
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I’ve been having a really hard time with my middle-grade this past week or so. I didn’t meet my revision goal for the week and was struggling with how to move forward. I was feeling burned out and not-so-enthusiastic about my writing endeavors. Any of them.
It was like an ongoing game of tug-of-war in my head. Back and forth swung my thoughts, emotions, and physical responses. Quit or not quit? Some or all? Finish this or start that? Fiction or nonficiton?
Image from Morguefile.
But as I did my cool-down walk this morning after a trail run, I realized that not making progress on the revision of my middle grade was part of why I feel burned out. It’s exhausting to be in forever-limbo with a project.
I wanted to quit because I felt shitty but I can’t quit because that will make me feel even shittier. In other words, writing can most certainly tire me out, BUT not writing may ultimately be even more draining.
Memo to self: sometimes I’m most tired when I don’t.
(Despite my wonderful little epihany, I am REALLY looking forward to finishing the damned book.)
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I’m an old dog; I don’t get too excited.
I don’t get caught up in all the mass hysteria.
Tim Howard
This sweet old dog photo courtesy of Morguefile.
I literally made myself ill in 2004 working against a second G.W. Bush/Cheney term, and today saw a photo of the radiant Michelle Obama embracing the loathsome Bush who created the cyle of death and destruction that continues today. Seeing them together like that was a kick to the gut.
And then I realized I shouldn’t be at all surprised.
Michelle’s husband expanded many of the immoral programs Bush put in place (drone program, for example), giving those Republican programs a bipartisan blessing that effectively cemented them as permanent U.S. policies. Now we’re about to have Round Two of a Clinton presidency, and the power structure keeps rolling along.
An oligarchy runs this country and exploits the rest of the planet, and while it infuriates me, I refuse to make myself sick over it.
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I’m “supposed” to be working on my middle-grade revisions, but am having a hard time getting motivated. As in, I haven’t touched it at all today. Instead, I took some photos of visitors to the new feeder location and realized it’ll be a whole new learning experience due to the lighting differences. The feeder used to be sheltered by the branches and leaves of the maple tree. Now the feeder is exposed on a slope where the afternoon light hits it hard.
My feathered friends’ photos ended up washed out, and I just spent a while playing with contrast, white balance, etc. settings.
All that time playing with settings, you’d think I’d have something more impressive to show for it. Guess I need to get on those revisions so I actually accomplish something today.
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If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.
~ Marcus Tullius Cicero
I put three hours into my garden today and it still looks like Flora Run Amok. Right about now I’d welcome a garden abduction.
Asters take up a lot of garden real estate and don’t bloom for a very long time, but when they do, they are lovely. (I can admit that. I’m not a monster.)
Now off to read a book from the library . . .
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The fall equinox
leaves losing hold of their green.
Soon, naked branches.
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Writing a good novel is hard work. But writing a good early chapter book is even harder because there are fewer words to establish setting, characterization, humor and emotions, and plot. Kara LaReau’s new book THE INFAMOUS RATSOS hits all those marks (with a big assist from the illustrations by Matt Myers!)
From the inside flap:
Meet Louie and Ralphie Ratso, two brothers who want to be tough, tough, tough, just like their dad, Big Lou. But every time they try to show just how tough they are, the Ratso brothers end up accidentally doing good deeds instead. What’ll Big Lou do when he finds out they’ve been acting like softies all over the Big City?
From Kara LaReau and Matt Myers, here is a clever and funny new chapter book about two wannabe infamous brothers who are bad at being bad.
I laughed in a bunch of places but especially loved whenever Ralphie Ratso tossed out another “Nyah-nyah!” in hopes of establishing his “tough” cred.
I highly recommend getting your hands on a copy of THE INFAMOUS RATSOS . Do yourself a favor and bring some heart and humor into your day, Ratsos style!
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Zebu is studying in Sweden for two semesters and has been there just over a month. Phone calls are expensive so we rely on texting and Skype chats to stay connected. He’s eight hours ahead of us so our Skype sessions are usually at the end of his day. Today we talked as he folded the laundry he’d just washed and dried at the student housing laundromat.
He told me about the pick-up basketball game he played last night, in which he was (at 6′ 3″) one of the smaller guys on his team. All communication by his teammates was in Swedish, but because Zebu is taking Swedish classes he now knows how to count which meant he knew the score at all times last night.
He also shared an anecdote about his German friend who speaks nearly flawless English with a penchant for old timey expressions. Apparently this guy recently described something as “a hoot and a half,” which made Zebu and a Canadian friend bust out laughing, and then a bit later the German described something not-so-good as “no hoot, no half.”
Skype allows you mobility and we often move out of camera range as we continue talking. I started the session sitting at the kitchen bar counter but as I watched Zebu hang shirts on hangers and match socks, I felt unproductive. So I carried the laptop/Zebu downstairs to the laundry room to retrieve a load of my clothes from the dryer where they’d sat for over a week (I know, I know). Then I came back upstairs and folded in unison with my son who is nearly 5000 miles away.
Disclosure: The product placement was inadvertent and I received zero compensation from HP.
The family that folds together, stays together. Or something like that.
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I loved HARRIET THE SPY from the very first time I read it, which was approximately one thousand years ago. Harriet inspired me to carry around a notebook so I could jot down whatever thoughts came to mind. (I remember that my furtive watching and scribbling creeped out one of my good friends, probably because I hadn’t fully absorbed the importance of how Harriet’s friends were hurt and angry after getting hold of her notebook and reading about themselves.)
I know I’m not unique; plenty of writers were inspired by Harriet. But to this day, HARRIET THE SPY resonates with me. I love filling notebooks. I love watching people and making up scenarios for what I observe. And I love my cat who conjures up one of the all-time best character names:
Pinky Whitehead!
My cat’s name is Marcel, but those pink ears and nose always transport me back to HARRIET THE SPY. Maybe someday I’ll know a cat that brings to mind Ole Golly . . .
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When I get frustrated and angry it sometimes helps to focus on something else, preferably something pleasing and/or interesting to look at. Something with different colors and textures, sizes and shapes, and quality of light. 
Something that reminds me of my tiny role in the universe.
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If freedom makes social progress possible,
so social progress strengthens and enlarges freedom.
~ Robert Kennedy
Colin Kaepernick and Arian Foster take a knee during national anthem. GRANT HALVERSON/GETTY IMAGES
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House Finch perched on top of feeder pole.
We’re still way below our usual numbers, but birds are starting to show up at the feeder again. However, many seem to prefer the top of the pole to the actual feeder dish.
Baby steps…
(* apologies to Dylan fans for the very bad pun)
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Calm and still mantis,
passerbys oblivious.
Heads are devoured.
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Can’t point my finger at just one thing that’s provoking anxiety today,
it’s more an accumulation of a whole lot of stuff twirling in my head.
Image from Morguefile.com
Anxiety and I are well-acquainted with one another,
and I know the best approach
is to acknowledge that the anxiety is there,
accept its existence rather than try to fight it,
and then move on with my life.
So.
I’m feeling anxious,
it’s not a good feeling but I accept that it’s happening,
and now I’m going to go work on my middle-grade revisions.
Take that, Anxiety.
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Flowers always make people better, happier, and more helpful;
they are sunshine, food and medicine for the soul.
~Luther Burbank
You’re welcome.
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And this, our life, exempt from public haunt,
finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
sermons in stones, and good in everything.
~ William Shakespeare
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Slow news day on the homestead.
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For years our main bird feeder hung off a branch near the trunk of our red maple. We had a great view from our dining room window and spent many happy hours watching the birds. The good news is our maple tree has thrived in our yard (our one and only true success with planting trees at this house), but the bad news is that we could no longer see the feeder due to all the growth.
Out of sight equaled out of mind, and filling the feeder became hit and miss. For the most part, the birds gave up on us.
Today we purchased a feeding pole and moved the feeder to its new location outside the other dining room window.
The feeder is now located next to the stump from the ash tree that resided there before succumbing to our bad tree juju.
The feeder is now also located close to where our bird bath was situated. We foolishly left our heated bird bath out there all season and it fell victim to the same hail storm that destroyed our roof. We were (and still are) sure there’s another unheated bird bath somewhere in this house, but we’ve been unable to find it. So today we finally caved in and bought another one (which Zippy insists means we will find the missing bath), and set it up on the patio.
The insurance company is replacing our heated bath, but we won’t put that one out until the temperatures drop.
Now all that’s left to do is sit back and wait for the birds to find us again.
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“It has a twist.”
That’s what the ticket-taker said to us yesterday at the movie theater. The older woman informed us who starred in the movie (as if that was something we hadn’t already researched), said she’d loved it and then added that the movie had a twist.
As soon as those words were out there, I felt cheated. I didn’t want to know anything about the movie (aside from the actors and the basic premise), but it was too late. The ticket-taker had spoken.
And boy oh boy, her words had a major impact on how I watched that film. I kept thinking, “Is this it? Is this the twist?”
Will he let him go?
Was he actually killed by the rattlesnake rather than the gun?
Will the gun now go off and kill that other guy?
Will he go for his gun and start a shootout?
It was distracting; my brain wouldn’t stop contemplating the possibilities. All because that well-meaning woman thought she needed to make small talk.
And you know the worst part? There wasn’t even a twist in this movie! The closing scene left the viewer with a few questions which only means that the movie was open-ended. Open-ended does not equal twist.
THERE WAS NOT A TWIST!
Rant over.
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Rain makes green grasses,
lush suburban lawn.
Fungi invasion.
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So keep fightin’ for freedom and justice, beloveds,
but don’t you forget to have fun doin’ it.
Lord, let your laughter ring forth.
Be outrageous, ridicule the fraidy-cats,
rejoice in all the oddities that freedom can produce.
~ Molly Ivins (1944 – 2007)
Just really missing ol’ Molly today. She’d show us the way through all the dumb and ugly raining down on us. She knew the cost of fear.
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This morning I took my exercise and yoga routine to the basement in order to escape the cacophonous roofers. As I did a quad stretch next to the support post, something caught my eye:
AE?
My first thought was that those initials were etched by Alex E., one of Zebu’s best friends throughout childhood. But then it hit me: Amelia Earhart!
Because look what else I found just inches from those inititals:
That’s clearly either a flight route or maybe even a rough sketch of Howland Island where Amelia was headed on that fateful flight. Do you know what this means? I’ve uncovered a clue that could help solve the mystery of Amelia Earhart’s disappearance!
Wow! Who knew what was in store when I woke up this morning?!
(Okay, okay. Cut me some slack. I’m suffering the effects of WAY too much loud noise. The hammers are echoing in my head.)
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Three years ago Zippy and I finally faced reality and replaced the shake shingles on top of our house. Our former neighbors, the ones higher on the hill than us and with a view of our roof from their kitchen, were thrilled.
We were tired of retrieving shingles from the yard every time the wind blew. Also, we were concerned the roof might start leaking.
The main reason we’d delayed action was that we couldn’t decide on the type of roof we wanted. Actually, that’s not true. We knew we wanted a steel roof because it was a more sustainable and environmentally benign material than asphalt shingles. But our budget finally pushed us toward asphalt and we consoled ourselves with the knowledge that the house had had the same roof for many, many years and that the new roof would last another many years.
Wrong.
A while back, my neighborhood was hit by a hail storm that ruined every single roof. (Except for the steel roof two streets over). Every day there’s hammering somewhere in the neighborhood. Today, that hammering is close to home.
Not my roof, but the same scenario.
Right now there’s a roll-off dumpster in my driveway filled with three-year-old shingles torn from the roof. Tomorrow the roofers will install a new asphalt shingle roof.
While I’m grateful for my home and the literal roof over our heads, I also feel a great sadness. We’re sending another load of waste to the landfill.
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Okay, this is a stretch.
Coco isn’t a Ramones fan
and she doesn’t sing Blitzkrieg Bop.
Still.
This expression, as she stands at the door waiting to be let inside for dinner, just screams HEY! HO! LET’S GO!
Or maybe I’m projecting a punk attitude on her because I know how when that door opens she’ll run inside and her back legs will go out from under her as she negotiates the turn to her food dish. Pure mosh pit enthusiasm.
Hey! Ho!
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Tracy Abell 