Garden gone mad

I’ve neglected my flower gardens this year and it’s very crowded out there, both front and back yards. The thistles and bindweed are giving the perennials a run for their money. I spent two hours out there today working on one small area in back, and it still looks like a garden gone mad.

Asters, day lilies, sedum, yarrow, and three shrubs that have run amok.

Asters, day lilies, sedum, yarrow, and three shrubs that have run amok.

It’s a vicious cycle:
I’m overwhelmed by the mess
and avoid going out there
which means more stuff grows out of control
which I then avoid.

Some women fantasize having a cabana boy,
but I dream of Chance the gardener.

 

 

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The right tool for the job

Sometimes a manuscript’s revision requires a total knock-down.
hammer-sledgehammer-mallet-tool

Other times a lighter touch is needed.
DSC_0024

Today my process feels closer to weaving than rewriting. I’m focusing on existing threads and interlacing them with other strands.
Loom

Note: This woman has a distinct advantage in that she will, without a doubt, know when she’s finished her project. When it comes to revision, I don’t always know when enough is enough.

 

 

 

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Mail drama

Too tired to go into all the details, but will say that I truly do appreciate the employees at my local post office. It’s a whole new experience trying to mail something to another country. Throughout the lengthy transaction (itemized Customs Form, I’m looking at you!), the postal employee was patient. I messed up a number of things and she set everything right.

I’ve long been a fan of the people doing that vital work and today want to publicly salute everyone at the United States Postal Service. Thank you for your service.

United State Postal Serevice logo

There are major efforts being made to dismantle Social Security, the public schools, the post office – anything that benefits the population has to be dismantled. Efforts against the U.S. Postal Service are particularly surreal.
~  Noam Chomsky

I’m with you, Noam.

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Channeling Muhammad Ali

Bee on coneflower

I must dig deep to find the essence I’ve overlooked, hoping that as I revise I don’t trample the delicate structure already in place.

Gotta float like a butterfly and sting like a bee.

 

 

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Waving goodbye to Gene Wilder

I was very sad to learn Gene Wilder had left the planet until I found out he suffered from dementia. Then I said, “Good.” Because fuck Alzheimer’s. But my heart still hurts knowing there won’t be any other wonderful performances from that gentle genius. I grew up on Gene Wilder movies and it’s hard to wave goodbye.

Gene Wilder accomplished the impossible: his subversive performance as Willy Wonka made me love the movie more than the book. That never happens! I ALWAYS prefer books to movie adaptations.

WillyWonka GeneWilder as WillyWonka

Thank you for the many laughs.
Rest in peace.

 

 

 

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All our exploring

Just finished a Skype session with Zebu who is in Sweden. He’s been there about ten days now and feeling more settled, especially after getting this issue resolved. I carried the laptop around the house so he could see the dogs and cats in their various poses of slumber and he told us of his many adventures.

The son who demanded I hold him for the first year of his life now eats breakfast paste from a tube and purposely gets lost in an unfamiliar city.

Who knew?

Marcel curled up next to my weight bench that's covered with the T-shirt Zebu designed for his 6th birthday.

Marcel curled up next to my weight bench that’s covered with the T-shirt Zebu designed for his 6th birthday.

We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring
will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.
~  T. S. Eliot

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O pioneer woman

Zippy and I just returned from a hike in the open space. We walked up the street a little ways and were out on the trails.

Clouds and sky over ridge

Invasive mulleins in the foreground.

Unfortunately, I started having discomfort in one of my toes and guessed that the neighboring nail was cutting into the skin. We stopped so I could take off my boot and sock and, sure enough, my toe was bloody. So I found a small rock and used it as a file to grind down the nail’s sharp edge. It worked! For the first time ever I had faith that I could’ve survived more than an afternoon in Lonesome Dove (contrary to a friend’s long ago teasing).

Zippy and I continued on our hike. There was so much cool stuff to see (flowering thistles and seeded-out knapwood plants and bright red rose hips and wildflowers and hawks and songbirds), and I kicked myself for not bringing camera and binoculars. But Zippy used his phone camera for these shots, and I’m glad to have documentation of our lovely hike on this August afternoon.

Another mullein invading the space on the right side of photo.

Another mullein invading the space on the right side of photo.

This photo doesn't do justice to this thicket of white stalks which reminded me of birch trunks but are probably wild parsley or wild parsnip or something like that?

This photo doesn’t do justice to the thicket of white stalks which reminded me of birch trunks but is probably wild parsley or wild parsnip or something like that?

I’m so very grateful for open space that allows me to clear my mind and ease my soul.

 

 

 

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A little bit of blue

Last night I found out I wasn’t selected as a Pitch Wars mentee and I admit to feeling down. I went to bed thinking I was a loserhead. Then I woke up this morning and reread feedback I’d received from one mentoring team last night, and the wheels began turning. When another mentor sent feedback, one of her comments dovetailing nicely with a bit from the earlier critique, the wheels in my head started cranking in earnest.

Did I agree with everything written? Nope.
Did I have AHA moments as I read their comments? Yep.
Can I quit this manuscript when it’s within my power to strengthen it? Nope.
So does this mean I’m embarking on yet another round of revisions? Yep.

The season's last clematis bloom.

The season’s last clematis bloom.

I exchanged emails with a writer friend about all this and he was a bit horrified that I’m revisiting this manuscript for the umpteenth time. His exact words: I think you’re the type of person who puts a band-aid on just to rip it off!

But that’s the writing life: patches of blue poking through the clouds, an occasional burst of sunshine, and a steady stream of self-inflicted pain.

So it goes.

 

 

 

 

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Live music lessons

Last night’s concert with Shovels & Rope and Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats filled me with joy and admiration. I’m not a musician nor have I ever played one on TV, but I felt a kinship with the people on the Red Rocks Amphitheatre stage.

Why? Because as I watched and listened to all those talented musicians, I understood on a gut level the work they’ve done. They’re creative people who have put in years and years to get where they’re at, and they’ve enjoyed glimpses of triumph and then been dragged down low. They’ve been discouraged yet kept going and when something wasn’t working, they tried something else. Every one of them took chances and eventually triumphed.

I want to be like those musicians when I grow up.

Antique Typewriter (with lettering)

 

 

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Let there be music!

In a few minutes Zippy and I are headed here:

Red Rocks Amphitheatre

Red Rocks Amphitheatre

to listen to opening act Shovels & Rope:

and then headline act Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats:

We try to see one Red Rocks show each summer.
It’s always a treat.

 

 

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Weebles wobble

If you presume to love something,
you must love the process of it much more than you love the finished product.
 ~  John Irving

Right now I’m not entirely sure I love the fiction-writing process. As I revise this young adult novel, I’m starting to question whether I have any business trying to get published. I received some feedback on another manuscript that has me questioning my talent, and today I’m more wobbly than I’ve been in some time.

So. The bad news is I’m scared and exhausted and wishing someone could cut out this obsessive writer part of me so I’d never have to feel this way again.

The good news? My experience tells me that this ugly fog will eventually lift and then fade to a very faint memory. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I might not always love the process, but I trust it.

a copy

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Neighborhood steeplechase

I’ve been having some health issues so took three weeks off from running. During that time I did a lot of speedwalking around the neighborhood and while it got my heart pumping, I felt wistful whenever people ran past me. I need to run.

So it was a big HOORAY on Monday when Zippy and I did a short run around the neighborhood! We timed today’s run to end just minutes before the Olympics men’s final 3000m steeplechase and in preparation for watching that race, I spent my run scanning for potential hurdles and water jumps. There was a little runoff in one of the streets and I’m pleased to report that I cleared that water no problem!

This image from the 2015 African Youth Championships. (Clyde Koa Wing)

This image from the 2015 African Youth Championships. (Clyde Koa Wing)

We finished our run and watched the men’s final, cheering on all the athletes. Evan Jager from (one of) my alma mater, UW-Madison, won silver today. A few days ago we saw Emma Coburn from Zebu’s alma mater (UC-Boulder) win bronze. Such inspirational races.

Maybe I should start hurdling the boulders next to the trails!

 

 

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Wildebeest migration

On Saturday, Wildebeest drove for six hours to come home and see his brother before Zebu leaves for ten months in Sweden. (In the time-honored tradition of all young adults, Wildebeest brought his dirty laundry with him.)

Zoey keeping watch on the clothes hamper and work shirts.

Zoey keeping watch on Wildebeest’s hamper and work shirts.

A few minutes ago Wildebeest hugged us all goodbye, loaded up his clean and folded laundry, and headed back home. He’s leaving one home for another.

I’m hyper-aware that whenever I refer to this, the childhood home we made for our sons, as HOME, I run the risk of minimizing the lives our children are creating for themselves. But I also want them to know they are always welcome here and will always have a home with Zippy and me. This is their home. We are their home. So I use “home” to refer to here and there, wherever there may be.

Wildebeest is currently on the road, migrating back to the life he’s chosen for himself. I miss him already, but will see him the next time he comes home.

Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
~  Matsuo Basho

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It was 24 years ago today

Zippy and I got married on Hatcher Pass in Alaska on August 15, 1992. My childhood friend, my best friend, Scott, served as our marriage commissioner and performed our ceremony.

Anne, whom we’d we met in a black and white photography class at UAA, was our close friend who acted as the hardworking wedding photographer. Bob and Liz were adventurous friends Zippy called a week in advance to ask to be our witnesses.

Scott, Tracy, Zippy, Bob, and Liz. If you look closely in the background, you will also see tourists watching the ceremony.

Scott, Tracy, Zippy, Bob, and Liz. If you look closely in the background, you will also see tourists watching the ceremony.

It was a bit chilly up there on the pass, but the day’s emotions kept me warm. Here we are with Scott and Anne when she got a brief respite from photography duties.

Scott, Anne, Tracy, and Zippy.

Scott, Anne, Tracy, and Zippy.

And here we are with Scott who’d traveled from Colorado to Alaska to officiate at our wedding despite serious health issues. He died in late December of that year.

All smiles.

All smiles.

I miss him so. But twenty-four years ago today, he helped bring a whole lotta love and laughter. All our friends made it a truly wonderful day.

Happy Anniversary, Zippy.
I love you.
*smooch*

 

 

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Tenacious R Us

I’m a perennial gardener which means that the flowers I’ve planted are supposed to come back every year. Some, like the coreopsis that once bloomed long and bright throughout my beds, suddenly stopped blooming. All of them, at the same time, disappeared from my garden. The same thing happened with the exuberant clumps of blanket flower that used to bloom next to my driveway and were the the envy of my neighborhood. Here today, gone tomorrow.

But those are exceptions. The vast majority of my flowers come back each year which is great because I’m lazy. And cheap. I don’t like having to plant year after year and I don’t want to pay a bunch of money for flowers that will only be around a few months.

For a number of years I did plant annuals in clay pots and place them around my patio and down the steps. It was a lot of work and cost a bunch of money, and I had to remember to water them all the time because it gets extremely hot out there in the late afternoon. So I just kinda allowed that aspect of my gardening to fade away and left the empty clay pots stacked in my basement.

However, one huge pot remains outside year-round.
_MG_0202 Petunias

This is a photo from yesterday and the petunias blooming there are the result of the last planting which was 2-3 years ago. Those petunias haven’t gotten the memo that they’re annuals. They keep coming back. They refuse to give up.

They’re tenacious,
they prevail,
and I feel an undeniable kinship with them.

 

 

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Note to self

To live a creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong.

~  Joseph Chilton Pearce

scream-cartoon-painting

Anyway, “wrong” is a subjective term except for when I’m doing math.
Which I most definitely am not.
So it’s all good.
(Okay, not “all” good. But mostly!)

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