Crowded House

As of this  moment, we’re waiting for the hardwood floor refinishers to arrive. It’s been a scramble to empty closets and move furniture, and yesterday I experienced serious regret for setting the situation in motion. But we’re finally ready. Well, Zippy and I are ready. The dogs and cats are all a bit befuddled and/or anxious regarding this new arrangement.

The combination of crammed space plus echo-y rooms is a bit unsettling.

For them and me.

Oh baby baby it’s a wild world

Marcel is the four-legged member of the family voted Most Likely to Open a Closet, Drawer, or Food Canister. Which is why it was particularly dumb for me to leave only a sliding screen door between him and the great outdoors before I left today for a lunch date. To make matters worse, it wasn’t until a couple hours after my return that I noticed the screen door open about six inches.

Zippy and I began dashing about in a panic, calling Marcel’s name. Zippy checked under furniture and in closets as I ran around the front and back yards looking under bushes. I ran across the street (which hosts a fair amount of traffic) to ask the neighbors if they’d seen him. They hadn’t, but promised they’d let me know if they did. I started to wonder how I’d ever break it to Zebu that Marcel was gone.

I was making another round of the back yard when I heard something. I stopped and listened. I heard it again and followed the sound. There was Marcel, curled up in a corner of the neighbor’s yard, crying and frozen in fear. Zippy climbed over the fence and brought him home.

The good news is that Marcel’s already gotten over the trauma from his big adventure. Just a few moments ago, he was messing with the latch on the food canister.

Update: And right after I posted this, he opened the closet in my writing room and climbed into a box filled with bubble wrap.

363 days ago today

This is what was happening in my front yard nearly a year ago today.

There needs to be some serious growth taking place in the next two days if the tulip wants to debut on the same day this year.

Spoiler alert: I don’t think it’s gonna happen.

 

Sunday Confessional

Today, I didn’t share.

Zippy and I worked in the front yard for 90 minutes (we’d set a two-hour goal, but gave up after the effing wind blew off my hat one too many times). He deadheaded the blue mist spirea bushes while I dealt with the lavender. WE HAVE SO MUCH LAVENDER.

_MG_0006 Bee on lavender

Lavender in all its summertime glory.

Normally, when I thin plants I put a FREE ad on Craigslist and leave the plants next to the house for people to pick up whenever they can. Today, I couldn’t deal with added layers of decision-making and organization, and tore out a garbage-bag full of run-amok lavender and threw it away. To summarize: I didn’t share plants with other gardeners and I didn’t compost the waste.

If confession is supposed to be so good for the soul, why do I still feel guilty?

Welcome, beauty

Beauty is everywhere a welcome guest.
~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

My iris haven’t begun blooming yet, so I’m posting this photo from last April in anticipation of the splendor that’s in store for us.

I’m forever grateful to my former neighbor, Tina, for sharing her iris-love with me. She had many different iris in her vast gardens and when I first began digging in the soil, creating my own little patch of beauty, she’d toss iris tubers over the fence. I’m pretty sure this photographed iris is one of those long-ago gifts.

Monday, Monday

Spent the entire day with my friend as she received her first “spa” (aka chemo) infusion treatment. We’re outta here in another 30 minutes.

Whew. I’m feeling whupped, which reminds me how exhausted Zippy was after I labored for 26 hours to bring Zebu into the world. I’ve teased him over the years for being more tired than me.

Today, I get it.

In art nothing must resemble an accident, not even movement.*

Sometimes I read a scene I’ve written and think, “Whoa, that’s way too much choreography. You’re doing a play-by-play of your character’s every move.” Then I cut some verbiage, chastising myself for cluttering yet another scene with too much distracting movement.

Today, I came across this photo of Zebu and me taken last spring in Uppsala, Sweden.

 

 

 

 

There’s a whole lotta movement going on in this slice of real life and the photo is a good example of what I want from the choreography in my scenes. I want the movement to tell a story.

* Edgar Degas

Aiming for done

Today, as I work on revisions and battle feelings of overwhelm and oh-my-goddess-will-I-ever-be-finished-with-this-effing-story, I’m trying to keep in mind that perfection is the enemy of done. My revisions will never, ever be perfect. This manuscript will never, ever be perfect no matter how many times I revise. Yes, the bloom on this Christmas Cactus is pretty much perfect, but that kind of creation is out of my reach.

What is within my creative control is forging ahead. Ignoring the voices in my head telling me that my efforts are pointless because they’ll never be exactly right.

At this point, the healthiest attitude is to let go of exactly right and aim for exactly done.

Today’s memory of yesterday

This morning we woke to six inches of snow on the deck railing. The yard was blanketed in white. Tree limbs and branches were layered with pristine fluff. And now? Much of that snow is already gone.

Yesterday is but today’s memory, and tomorrow is today’s dream.
~ Khalil Gibran

Sunday Confessional: thirsty edition

I’m working away on my manuscript, making progress and feeling a distinct sense of accomplishment. However, I’m also looking forward to when I punch out for the day and can enjoy this parting gift from my brother-in-law:

Two of my favorite things — hooping and hoppy beer. Thank you again, Bob, for the Palisade Brewing Company’s Hula Hoppie Session IPA. This beer is already making me smile.

Safe travels on your drive back east!