Life’s been hectic and worrisome
and sometimes I forget to smile
so I’m posting this photo to help me remember
those less hectic and worrisome moments.
And then I smile again.
Uncategorized
My Insides Match My Outsides
For the past several days I’ve been working on the first 90 pages of my YA, zooming in on one particular relationship between two characters. I first went through the pages and highlighted every interaction between them in yellow. Then I went back to the beginning, highlighting in red the words I want to delete and using green highlights for the new words I added. It’s been a slow process but I feel as if finally, finally these characters are unfolding at the right pace and that I’m avoiding the dreaded Emotional Ping-Pong (something that was rampant in a YA I read over the weekend).
So imagine my delight when a few minutes ago I opened my computer to resume work on my project and I realized the screen mirrored the glorious colors outside.
Nature always wears the colors of the spirit. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
Thankful Thursday: The Thank-Goddesses-for-Birds Edition
Yes, it’s true the country is being held hostage by temper-tantrum-throwing, batshit-crazy extremists. But it’s also true we still have birds. And for that I’ll be forever thankful.
Wordless Wednesday: The Grackle Edition
Getting a Grip on the Trail
I just got back from my first run wearing my new trail shoes. My new FREE trail shoes that I won for being the Overall Female Champion last month. I’ve never worn trail shoes before, and while out there today experienced one of those “why didn’t I do this sooner?” moments. These new shoes gave me better traction and helped me get up the hills faster. I love me some faster.
I felt so good when I got home I wanted to document the maiden voyage.
Pretty spiffy, huh?
And the best part is, I now run so fast I’m a blur . . .
Rain, Rain, Go Away
Picture this: Tracy trapped inside her house, armed with nothing but a camera, as rain pours down outside.
Someone left the Kong out in the rain…
Nothing like waterlogged nut-munch…
So far all this rain in my neighborhood has only added up to really, really soggy ground, but just 20 miles away the city of Boulder is flooding. It would be best if the rain stopped falling. I’ve got no pull, but perhaps the weather goddesses will listen to Batman:
“I am vengeance. I am the night. I. AM. BATMAN!”
I believe the rough translation is: KNOCK IT OFF WITH THE RAIN, YO!!!
(Damp) Bird on a Wire
We’re experiencing uncharacteristically wet weather here in Colorado and are in day four (I think?) of off-and-on-again rain. Dare I say it? Yes, I dare: It’s exceedingly M-O-I-S-T around these parts (apologies to those who loathe that word but I could not resist).
This morning I looked out and saw a member of the typically debonaire American Kestrel species out on the wire. In the rain.
bedraggled American Kestrel
I thought about offering an umbrella, but the always-present-even-under-wet-circumstances imperious kestrel-tude let me know it was best to keep quiet.
Making Courage a Habit
A great part of courage is the courage of having done the thing before. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
Because I didn’t write much over the summer, it’s been difficult finding my groove again. That nasty little voice whispers in my ear, calling me delusional as I try to shake off the rust and gain some traction on my project.
I’ve had a few starts and stops, but for the past three days have written 1000 words per day. It’s starting to feel like a habit again although each day there’s a flutter in my chest as I prepare to sit down to work. “What if today I can’t do it?”
But as the wise Mr. Emerson pointed out, courage gets a bit easier each time you face down a particular fear. So right now I’m off to write my 1000 words for the day with the knowledge that I’ve done it before and can surely do it again.
Courage.
A funny thing happened on the way to the finish line…
Our local high school holds a 5k fundraising run in August, orchestrated by the cross country coach and team. We started running it the year Wildebeest ran cross country. It’s a tough course with some downhill early on and then the ups and downs that follow the neighborhood topography before a brutal uphill starting on the street and then over rocks and grass to finish up on the soccer field. It’s the kind of finish you don’t want anyone seeing you complete because you’re sure a lung will pop out of your chest or that you’re moving so slowly spectators will think you’re frozen in time.
I don’t like that kind of humiliation so last summer I trained on that last half-mile a bunch of times, pushing up the hill as hard as I could then jogging down before doing it again. I felt confident I’d finish strong when I ran that course in August. Except I ended up not being able to run because my mom needed assistance out of town. Oy.
So today was my third time running the course. I’ve been running consistently all summer but never went back to work that hill again. I regretted that. Today, after running two strong miles, I began to fade on the third. By the time I hit that last bit, I was whupped. And after looking at my watch and seeing the slow time, I decided “What the hell, I’m walking.” One of the other school’s cross country coaches** was there to cheer on his kids and when he saw me walking, ran up alongside me, exhorting me to run again. Which I did. Until he dropped off and then I walked again. Until he came up next to me again and got me running some more. Until he dropped back.
I think I walked two or three times in that race, something I NEVER do. And when I crossed the finish line I thought two things: Glad that race is over! AND The only thing that will redeem this race is if I win one of the raffle prizes.
Fast forward to the raffle portion of the post-race festivities when the cross country coach announced the top male and female racers in the Citizen category (Citizens are anyone over 18 years). The cross country coach announced my name and after a stunned moment, I walked to the front and said, “There’s no way. This was my slowest time on this course.”*** I convinced the officials they’d made a mistake and went back to my place in the crowd while they checked data again. But a few minutes later, the coach was next to me. “Can you come look at this? I think you’re our top female finisher.”
And I was.
** this coach was formerly at our school and is responsible for Wildebeest’s knee problem after having him run 17 miles on concrete so I have some, what shall I call them, mixed feelings about the coach’s enthusiasm for running.
*** this year was indeed my slowest time but after checking I realized it was only 41 seconds slower than my fastest time. Huh.
Oh yeah, and I also won a free jersey and pair of running shoes. Score!
The Story Is In the Details
It’s been a very strange summer in terms of my productivity and sense of passing time, but school is back in session and I’m trying to get back in the groove. I’m working again on the contemporary YA I focused on during the online revision course with the ever-wise editor Cheryl Klein, and realized I needed to know much more about the setting. So I’m taking the time to create a map of the community, including local businesses. I’m getting to know proprietors and citizens and landmarks.
I’m adding detailed texture to the story.
Just having that map and sketches of those additional characters makes me feel like an authority on my story. Taken separately, details can seem like tiny, sometimes insignificant things. But when you add them up, those tiny details turn into a solid foundation.
Learning to Fly
Discovered a finch on the deck rail this morning. Eyes closed. Visible, rhythmic breathing and tufted feathers on her head. I guessed she’d hit a window and was recovering from the trauma. As I watched, she opened her eyes and tilted her head before hopping to the edge of the rail. But she didn’t take off. A few moments later, a male finch landed on the rail and hopped closer in order to give her a safflower seed from the feeder.
Baby bird!
I grabbed the camera and documented what came next. Mostly, hopping about and looking around as finches and doves busied themselves at the feeder about ten feet away.
A few minutes later she fluttered down to the deck.
Then she took off for the basketball rim.
After several moments perched there she tried flying toward the feeder. Unfortunately, she didn’t take into account the backboard and hit it (lightly) before dropping to the branch below.
She stayed on that branch for quite a while before taking off and landing on another branch hanging about a foot away from the feeder. This photographic documentation ended there because I didn’t want to startle her by moving closer, but I’m confident she’s doing fine. That little finch did some growing up in a hurry.
Pooch Portrait
I was warming up the camera before taking Zebu’s senior pictures when I captured this Zoey moment:
The girl always looks a bit worried.
Beauty All Around
Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair. ~ Khalil Gibran
I’m totally down with your sentiment, Khalil, except maybe the wind could lay off my poppies? You know, so they could hold onto their bloom for longer than a day?
I’m totally down with your sentiment, Khalil, except maybe the wind could lay off my poppies? You know, so they could hold onto their bloom for longer than a day?
Friday Five: The Farewell-to-Lebowski Edition
On Wednesday, July 10, we said goodbye to Lebowski. We adopted The Dude (known as “Harry” on his adoption papers) from the Dumb Friends League in November of 2004. I went to the shelter with the intent of adopting another female cat (I’d had two females before, Diva and Isis), and instead ended up with the friendliest (male) cat I’d ever met.
Lebowski would run ahead of us and flop down on the floor, inviting us to rub his tummy. At which time, he’d purr in the loudest tones. Writhing in ecstasy.
When people came to the house, he’d hang back a minute or two but then stroll out to make introductions. Lebowski viewed everyone as potential friends and ear-scratchers.
He had a good relationship with Coco (pictured below) and Zoey, the two shelter dogs we adopted in the year after he joined us. He tolerated their sniffing and nuzzling, and he repaid them with friendly swats on their heads from where he perched atop their crates.
This summer was The Gift of Lebowski. Expectations were that he’d die in May but he stayed with us for almost another ten weeks. I spent most of the summer with him. Lots of time on the bed or couch, but increasingly either on the deck, the patio, or wandering the backyard. He had quality of life as he watched (and sometimes chased) the butterflies and stalked beetles. In the final days, he was happy to curl up beneath the yarrow and valerian where he could observe everything around him. 
I like to say that Lebowski won the lottery when we brought him home because for the rest of his life he had four devoted friends who loved on him and satisfied his hedonism. But that lottery feeling went both ways. I’m forever grateful the female cat I’d picked out to meet/adopt didn’t want anything to do with me and that the shelter volunteer then said, “You know who’s a really nice cat you should meet . . .”
Words can’t do him justice.
The Dude and Books and Me
I’ve been offline for the past month, mostly because I’ve been spending time with my cat Lebowski. Five weeks ago we found out he is terminally ill, and my heart shattered when I thought it was only a matter of days before I had to say goodbye. Instead, we’ve been gifted all this extra time so I’m soaking up the love while I still have the chance. Trying hard to ignore the heartbreak in my future.
Lebowski is one of the most loving felines I’ve ever known and he wants to be close to me all the time. He’s either on my lap or curled against my leg (he even sits next to my head while I do my planks, enduring the extra-loud Green Day I blast for motivation). He likes being outside so we sit on the deck beneath an old shower curtain I’ve rigged to give us shade, his tail gently flicking as he watches birds in the yard and squirrels running along the fence. I caress my kitty and listen to his purr, trying hard not to think too far into the future. Trying hard to stay in the moment, memorizing the arch of his neck when he’s angling for the best scratch. Memorizing the silky feel of his tail sliding through my fingers and the sight of the long-long whiskers that grew on a once-wide cat.
Because Lebowski likes me stationary, I’ve been doing LOTS of reading. The writing hasn’t been happening, in part because when I work at my standing desk, the kitty comes in and meows up at me until I get down on the floor and rub his tummy. Instead, I’ve read stacks of books (lots of them good and others not-so-good) these past weeks. It feels right to read other writers’ words while I fill my heart with Lebowski.
Mostly I’m trying hard to remember that while this isn’t the long happily-ever-after I’d hoped for when Lebowski came into my life, every day with him is a gift.
The Dude in June of 2009
Tiptoe Through the Tulips . . .
. . . lest you knock the raindrops from the petals.
Silver Linings
We’ve hit a rough patch around here, but things could be worse.
As the inimitable Steven Wright once pointed out:
When everything is coming your way, you’re in the wrong lane!
image from MorgueFile.com
Bonding with Wildebeest
Wildebeest moved out almost exactly one year ago, but for the past week we’ve spent lots of time together. In the ER two nights and then the hospital after his appendix was removed. And back here at home after one post-op night in his apartment during which time he realized he needed more help due to the painkillers and nasty antibiotics.
Today he finally feels like himself again and he’s headed back to his apartment and beloved cat, Bernice. But first, he asked if I’d cut his hair. Even during his tumultuous teens we declared cease-fires over many a (bad) haircut, and today as I cut off his ponytail I said, “Thank you so much for doing this with me. Zebu won’t let me touch a hair on his head.”
Wildebeest said it was how he liked getting haircuts. I shook my head in amazement and fired up the clippers. We shared conversation and laughter while I did my amateur shearing and then I made the inevitable mistake: a divot above his right ear. I yelped in panic, but Wildebeest only laughed and said, “This is how it goes. There’s always a mess-up.” As I fussed and apologized, he said, “Don’t you remember, Mom? You always get like this by the end of a haircut. The panic is payback for the Susie Derkins cut you gave me in grade school.”
Ah, yes. The day I chopped his bangs waaaay too high on his forehead and he just laughed.
Wildebeest and I have had more than our share of clashes, but to his credit, he’s never, ever given me grief for any hair errors. He’s got a big heart, that boy.
Anyone Seen King James?
It’s been a while since I’ve seen Wildebeest’s friend, King James. If you see the handsome devil, tell him to stop by, ‘kay?
Thankful Thursday: The Snowshoe Edition
Today I am thankful for easy access to wide open space where I can clear my mind and soothe my soul. I am thankful for the sixty minutes I had all to myself, with no one else around except some magpies and a coyote. I am thankful for the snow- and ice-crusted splendor (such as these images provided to morgueFile.com by people who had the foresight to bring along a camera):
I am thankful for the mystery of animal tracks in the snow:
I am thankful for the delight of seemingly random patterns in the snow (although I figured out the ones I saw were made by small clods of earth coming loose from the hillside and rolling down the slope to stop in dark blobs at the end of their dainty trails, an image I REALLY wished I could document with a camera):
I am thankful for delicate, lacy sheets of ice melting in the sun:
It’s been a tough week in a whole lot of ways, and so when I saw a cluster of mullein stalks standing ramrod straight in the snow, something about the weak shadows they cast made me teary; it was like some lonely roll-call. Lonely yet courageous. In any case, today I am thankful for Nature’s refuge that I found via my snowshoes.
Monday Attitudes
My default outlook on Monday mornings is this:
But if I try faking my way into a more upbeat and optimistic attitude, I could end up with sore facial muscles:
So I’m aiming for a more measured approach to this particular Monday:
Thoughtful and slightly wary. Ready to take flight should the need arise.
Major Regret OR I Told Me So
Even though I saw it coming, Obama’s recent budget proposal to cut Social Security benefits via a Chained CPI makes me want to puke.
Cutting benefits for society’s most vulnerable is a callous act. It’s cruel and unnecessary, and I’m deeply ashamed I voted for Obama in November. I knew this was coming and yet I caved at the final hour and cast my vote for someone who is clearly not a Democrat because of my disgust for the Republicans’ voter suppression campaign.
I wish there was a time machine that would give me a redo so that I could cast my vote for someone who doesn’t help the rich get richer at the poor’s expense. Alas, no such device exists and I must live with my vote. And if I’m ever again tempted to vote for someone who clearly doesn’t care about the powerless, I need only remember this sick feeling in my gut. In the meanwhile, I’m making sure my “representatives” know where I stand on a Chained CPI.
Hoop Dreams
I used to hoop a lot and then I guess I lost enthusiasm because I never found my flow which made me feel clompy and uncoordinated and less-than-awesome in comparison with the many other people who seem to float as they hoop. BUT, today I’m feeling the urge to do more than spin the hoop around my waist while watching college basketball or whatever other television program I’d rather not view while sitting on my butt, and I want to learn to float and dance and do lots of graceful, cool tricks. I want to be the hooper of my imagination.
You heard it here first, people: I am going to cast off those clompy-Frankenstein-feelings and try to reclaim my joy in the spin. I am going to resume my pursuit of FLOW!
(Not me, not even close). This is a lovely hooper from Morguefile.com who I hope will keep me inspired to get back in the spin.
Friday Five: The I-Forgot Edition
Went spelunking in my photo files and found a file from December that I’d forgotten.
Wishing everyone a lovely weekend filled with unexpected treats and no overripe bananas. Unless, of course, you’re in the mood for baking bread . . .
Wordless Wednesday: The Thirst Edition
(I’m going to cheat and add some words…)
Today I’m feeling a bit like this squirrel sipping at a less-than-pristine pool: my YA revision process has suddenly turned murky. However, it’s what I’ve got to work with so I need to suck it up. (And maybe sometime soon, some kind being will clean and replenish my brain pan!)
Tracy Abell 