Category Archives: Daily News

I wish I had 40 people to invite to dinner tonight. I would NEED 40 people to get rid of the yellow squash heaped in a huge wood-turned bowl in my kitchen. Apparently, our builder has a garden that went wild. He’s been gives away brown paper bags of his overages. We received a full bag of yellow squash and one of cucumbers. What am I to do with all this?  Mark has this brilliant idea that I would have fun making homemade pickles. Ummm….. get real.  I am still wrestling with the blackberry jam concept. Don’t know if I’m up for pickling yet. (My Laura Wilder Ingles gene isn’t as strong as one might suspect.)

Our neighbor, Gary, has twelve acres next to us. He and his wife are wonderful. Been retired for years and their home is beautiful. There granddaughter stays the entire summer, and has become Neva’s best friend. Mine too, because every time she sees me feeding the horse, she comes to help. Cute kid.  Gary works on the land all day. He’s created gardens, waterfalls in the creek and charming places to sit or lay in a hammock. He collects old Oil company signs and they are on his workshop like an antique collection. He also has a second cabin home on the property that they rent on occasion for extra income. I hope we have that someday. It all goes to show what time and attention can do to a piece of land. Anyway, Gary thought he was planting cucumbers but they came up as squash too, so I already have received an armload of his gift produce. And Dianne planted a garden in her backyard and passed on three yellow squash with her tomatoes. Remind me NOT to plant yellow squash next year when I get a garden. It takes over the world, like the blob. Fact is, there aren’t that many creative things to do with it – or at least, not that I know of. I should do some research. Now, if it was zucchini, that would be another matter all together. I make marvelous zucchini bread and I could gift it right back at whoever forced the produce on me. Ha. That would be a way to get even.

Why am I blogging? I don’t have time for this today. I have to look up how to make blackberry jam on the internet, check recipes, and maybe, delve into yellow squash soufflés. (Cooking is number two on the “how to avoid your homework” chart.) Time is of the essence when buckets of hard earned berries are sitting in the fridge, threatening to mold.

I must go.  If I stumble upon something interesting, regarding foodstuffs, I’ll report it here. But don’t count on that being my next blog. I got my llama sheers in the mail this week, and I think today is the day Mark and I will tackle that one. One of the people working on our house raised llamas and they made big fun of us as newbies considering what we were going to encounter. Sounds scary. Ha. I’m not intimidated. Can’t be worse than a dance parent with vengeance in her eye because her kid didn’t move up a level.  I will let you know how it turns out – and take pictures. My llama may end up look like a three year old who cut her own bangs, but I will take pride in trying something new, if nothing else.

Gotta go. Thank Goodness yellow squash isn’t fattening.

    My eldest daughter tactfully commented that I’ve “written enough blogs about blackberries”. I guess my fascination with the berry is boring her. Of course, she will now say that I didn’t quote her accurately. She pointed out that she understands I can’t always quote the family verbatim (considering my lax memory) yet still, it bristles her that I summarize some conversations with a single prominent comment.

    I pointed out that I am very careful to be accurate and the family does actually say all the things I bother to quote in my blog. Heck, it’s not as if I can lie or embellish what is going on when my commentary is an open book (or computer screen) and those involved can take me to task for anything reported. But what she doesn’t realize is, sometimes a comment is spoken off-hand but it may be imprinted on the listener’s brain for reasons you may never know. People have selective hearing dependant upon their mood, emotional state or past experiences. And I tend to zero in on a single sentence when it amuses, annoys, or inspires me.

    Sometimes, it feels as if I am witnessing life through a high-powered lens, ultimately aware of what I think, feel and experience. It is rather new, this awareness, having started at about age 40. I think it was the catalyst for my discontent with an achievement driven life.  Anyway, my In the moment awareness makes details stick in my mind because I ponder them long after the moment has come and gone.  

     In regards to her feeling I embellish a conversation, or misquote, I think it’s more a case that when you see something you said in passing in print, your knee jerk reaction is not to recognize it as “yours”. Often the problem with interpretation is not what we say, but how we say it. Unfortunately, the way a comment is interpreted when read might be a far cry from the way it was intended by the author. For example, I tend to say things in humor – a touch of sarcasm my weapon against taking things too seriously when I sense things are escalating out of the comfort zone, but if those off-hand comments are taken literally, they can seem offensive or challenging. When I quote a family member, it may seem as if they are insensitive or foolish, when actually, they are just kidding. I know it, so I assume the reader will too. I guess if I was a better writer, that would always come across. Honestly, if I had the power to assure every word I’ve ever written was received with the perfect intent I had poured into it, my life would probably be very different now. Ah well . . .

I’m off track. I was intending to just do a quick update on life.

Let’s see – despite the fact that I have reached my quota on blackberry blogs, I will mention that I’m still picking blackberries. Today, Neva and I spent two hours diving through the prickles to fill an entire shoebox (we bought her new riding boots this morning, and the box was what was available in the car when the urge overtook us). Since my freezer is full and the family is getting sick of blackberries, we discussed what we could do with the windfall. She wanted me to let her sell them at the flea market for 3.00 a pint. (She is quite the entrepreneur – don’t know where she got that from). I told her I was willing to get all hot and sweaty and scratched up for family, but I draw the line at commerce. So we brainstormed and decided it was time to try our hand at making Blackberry Jam. She felt I should pay her for her contribution, considering how much effort she is putting into the task, because I’d get all the credit for the jam. I said, “No way”, but  promised I’d let her cook the jam with me. We can learn together.  We are now planning to make a gob of the stuff and put it in pretty jars with a nifty label that she can decorate. Then, she can give homemade blackberry jam to teachers and/or grandparents and friends at Christmas as gifts. She thought this a spectacular idea and instantly became a harsh taskmaster, demanding I force my way deeper into the pickers to get the biggest berries off the beaten path. I told her this aggressive blackberry picking was getting painful. It’s supposed to be fun.  She pointed out that all the best blackberries are in the places that take the most work to harvest. Then she said, “It’s just like life, Mom.”    Ha. She is only nine, and it appears, my work is done. I love her vibrant, little spirit.

I think picking blackberries will be in the top ten subjects of my new book 101 things you can do to distract yourself from doing homework while enrolled in an MFA program. Considering I’m not making much progress on my thesis novel (and I’m disgusted with myself over it, let me tell you), that is one book I feel qualified to write.

New subject:

My cat is a shithead.

    Yesterday, while reading something on the computer  Neva came in and said, “Mom, something weird is going on. There is blood on the porch and two of our chicks are missing.”

     I had just visited our baby chickens, giving them fresh food moments prior, so I knew she was mistaken. I went and looked into the cage. The door was tightly shut but two birds were gone. I couldn’t figure out how they could have gotten out. Then, while we stood there, my cat, Tom, comes in, walks right by us and sticks his paw into the cage, grabs a chick and starts pulling it out through the narrow bars. Of course, I socked him. Then I threw him over the porch railing about eight feet below (Neva said she has never seen me so mad at a pet. Ha, I guess it is no surprise to see me mad at people, but at pets . . . that is rare.)  Apparently, he ate my two silkies. Neva found one, headless, in the other porch. She buried it and made a very nice tombstone, a rock that states, (in permanent marker) “Here lies Silkie Little Chick.” I took a picture, but I can’t post it because I don’t know how this new camera works yet.

We never found the other chick. I have horror flashes of reaching under the couch one day and thinking I’ve found a wayward sock, but it will be Silkie number two. Damn cat. We went and bought three Silkie replacements the next day. They are cute, but I am watching them carefully, dreading another cat-astrophe. The problem is, we can’t keep the cat out because the dog lets her in. That is another issue.

Our 7-month-old dog, a plot hound named Maxine, knows how to open doors. Any door. She is large, so she just lifts herself up on her hind legs and gracefully puts her paw on the handle and lets herself in. She not only can push a door open, but she can pull from the other side. She can open the front door, the screen door, locked chests, you name it. She has the run of the cabin, much to my dismay, because she is generally untrained. For example, I made cupcakes for the 4^th of July and Neva laboriously decorated them. An hour later while we were out, the cupcakes were drying on the table. Maxine let herself in,  jumped on the table and ate all 24 cupcakes. Then she proceeded to barf all over the carpet, which smelled so badly we had to throw it out.

     She lets the cat into the screened in area when she is headed into the bunkhouse to lie on the carpet in the air conditioning, something she has started since she knows we keep the main cabin locked. She doesn’t intend to provide Tom with a Silkie drumstick lunch, but her leaving the door ajar does just this. We now have keys in all the doors and lock everything each time we go in or out. The screen door too.  It’s quite a nuisance. And really, I fear it is only a matter of time till Maxine learns to turn that key. Damn dog. Shithead cat. My world is filled with antagonistic animals this week.

New subject:

Mark quit his real estate course after one class. He announced he is too busy to drive and attend a scheduled commitment one hour before the second class. Of course, I told him this would be the case before he began. (Another I told ya so moment that I didn’t voice out loud. Aren’t I admirably disciplined?)  He is going to take the course on-line instead, but he hasn’t started yet. He has a year to do so, so I suspect it will wait until after the house is complete. He is not very good at self-motivated tasks such as an on-line school. Ah well. So much for our doing homework together or my getting sudden pity and understanding about my own workload.  Drat..

A sad subject:

Mark’s father has been in steady decline and we suspect he will be with us only a few more weeks. He now has a cancerous tumor in his brain as well as in his lung and bone. This makes him very confused. He does not know what day it is and often speaks about erratic things. He is nostalgic, which is new for this former stoic Scotsman. We took him to a bagpipe concert (he is a first generation American, having been raised in Scotland), and he cried because it dredged up memories of his youth. I made him blackberry cobbler, and he cried because his mother used to make it in Scotland. His confusion and his sensitivity, along with a loss of dignity because he feels helpless and lost, is horribly sad. Dianne is a saint, caring for her parents in her home at this trying time.

    I don’t want to talk much about this chapter of our lives, simply because I tend to get philosophical about life issues, and I don’t want to boil this down to theory or springboard from this subject to my own thoughts on aging or my life. I don’t want to pretend I understand what the family is feeling or try to wrap death up in simplistic fatalistic terms either, so I think my thoughts should remain private. But I will admit that it all makes me ponder life a great deal as I consider what is most important during our finite time on earth.

    Life is short. Make every day, every moment, every relationship, count. Most importantly of all – be happy.

I have under two weeks to switch from mild mannered country bumpkin back into dance diva. I am scheduled to teach 300 fledgling teachers in Boston on August 7^th. This dredges up a great deal of philosophical thought on dance and my place in it. But I don’t want to talk about it tonight. I am tired.

It used to be I never slept – maybe 5 hours a night at most. Now, I sleep quite well, staying in bed to the lazy hour of seven sometimes! Imagine. I guess my plan to slow down and take time to enjoy living has seeped into more facets than my career choice. Now, I actually like a full seven hours of sleep. But who knows, maybe when my chicks grow up and I discover I have a rooster, I’ll embrace waking at the crack of dawn once again. At least then,  I’d get some homework done. But for now, Blogging remains my number one pastime on the “What to do to avoid homework” list.

Yawn. Good night, friend.

Help. I can’t stop picking blackberries. It’s like I have blackberry radar or something, because I can be driving along, lost in the world of my mind, and suddenly I see them on the side of the road like a beacon.

I’ll say, “You see those blackberries?”

Mark will say, “What blackberries?”

The miniscule blackish morsels may be tiny and tucked obscurely underneath branches, but I see them, and I CAN’T ignore them.

So I will stop the car and gather a few in the bowl I keep in the back seat for just this purpose – or if we are in a hurry to go somewhere, I’ll return later to pick them on the sly. Can’t resist.

Yesterday, I went for a run. I haven’t gone running since before my residency, so I was a bit annoyed with the state of my path. I’ve picked up over six large trash bags filled with discarded cups and beer cans out there (If I ever get into heaven, it will be for environmental sainthood – sure won’t gain entry for anything else). And don’t ya know that in the two weeks I’ve been gone, the dirty, rotten, stink’in, lazy, slobbish, ignorant, jackass who throws waste out of his car window (I don’t like this guy, in case you haven’t noticed) has been up to his old habits. Apparently, he didn’t notice, or appreciate, the lovely clean road I’ve supplied him with for his drive home. Jerk.

Anyway,  I’m plodding along, thinking that I’m over being this guy’s outdoor maid. I’m gonna leave the trash where it is, because I’ll be moving in two months, and for all I care, the guy can drown in it . . . when I see a bush dripping with blackberries. I’m sort of glad I don’t have any vessel to put them in, because, frankly, we are overrun with blackberries, and my family is making fun of me over my enthusiasm now. The freezer is filled with one cup proportioned baggies of blackberries  – we have a huge vat of blackberry cobbler in the fridge and bowls of blackberries awaiting a fruit salad fate. I’ve given a few pints to my sister-in-law, and I’m forever looking for recipes to use the ones I keep dragging home. Finding good recipes for blackberries isn’t easy considering my husband announced this week that he really doesn’t like blackberries all that much (NOW he tell me?)

Anyway, back to my quest. I sigh as I look at those ripe, flavorful berries and jog on, but a few steps down the path and I see a big plastic 64-ounce subway cup on the road. Now, I figure picking it up would be good for the environment AND it would supply me with a vessel to collect a few more blackberries ( I can justify any passion, sad to say). So, I pick up the cup, backtrack and come home with more fruit.

I just can’t resist. They are free, fresh, and I like ’em. I told Mark I was worried I wouldn’t snap out of it. Maybe I’ll need electro shock therapy or something to kill the blackberry-picking obsession. He said the season would be over in about 5 weeks, so I’ll be saved. Till then, I’ll keep picking. Perhaps I should mention here that my giant blueberry bush is starting to turn. But blueberries are not as controversial as blackberries – they are more versatile when it comes to cooking, they have no thorns, and are sweeter by far . Picking them is a family affair, so I won’t feel so circumspect when I shift my focus to a new berry.  

At least, I am not the only person with this serious blackberry picking affectation. My sister came to visit for a few days and don’t ya know, she has it too. Must be genetic! The first day here she said, “Let’s pick some blackberries.” She didn’t know I’ve been at this for a week already. We spent a day on the land, picking away. She is quite an aggressive blackberry harvester. She got all scratched up, but she announced it was worth it to best me at the deed. That is debatable, of course. At one point, I noticed my kids in the car, resting and enjoying the air conditioning. Linda and I were out there slaving away at the bush, delighting in filling our bowls, smiling with blackberry-stained tongues. It’s obvious who the real kids in this family are.

The next morning,  Linda was out on the porch having a cigarette and she spies another bush. She dumps her coffee cup out and walks over in her PJ’s to pick more, gathering them in her cup, a cigarette hanging out of her mouth like Betty Davis. Yea – she has the dreaded blackberry obsession too.

We had a great time while she was here. We rode the horses and she gave me training advice (she is a far better rider than I, having spent years showing horses while I was dancing). We also went to the feed store to buy some supplies and came away with more baby chickens. She couldn’t resist – I couldn’t say no. I now have two tiny silkies (the chickens that grow low feathers on their bodies and feet that look like fur) and two bantams (miniature chickens) and four that have these huge tuffs of feathers on their head like they have an afro. They are all “fancy” chickens – not for eating or egg laying. They are for ambiance, don’t ya know.

The second day Linda was visiting, we called my brother Dave, who lives 1 ½ hour away. We invited him to dinner, but didn’t expect him to come. Sure enough, he came with his two sons to see my house and land (this is the first time my siblings have seen any of what we are creating here.) Strangely enough, then, my dad called. He was flying home to Florida from Cincinnati (where he went to play poker with some old buddies) and he missed his connecting flight out of Atlanta. So, since he was stuck, he rented a car and zipped over. Now, I had almost my entire family (sans Mom) together for this grand showing off of the new Hendryville. We explored the land with our four wheelers, and inspected the house. All were impressed and gushed lovely, generous compliments. My brother said, “Wow, this is more magnificent than my own plans for when I win the lottery.”  

Yes, well, many days if feels as if we won the lottery ourselves.

It was a nice weekend, although Mark had to work through much of it. He is drowning in labor with this house, trying to stay one-step ahead of the workers so he can put in all the special details he dreams up. My sister and I went to see how he was doing on the day we were riding, and he was covered head to toe in sawdust. Linda said, “Gee, your husband looks like a powered donut nowadays.” Ha. Perfect description.

Having a few days with my family was a joy. But it does put me behind in my homework, so today, I have to buckle down and get something done.  I’ve given myself one hour to blog, and time’s up. Sigh.

Before I go, I thought I should mention that I lost Kathy again. That happened after my last residency too – I came home to find her in jail. If we don’t have consistent meetings, she fades away, loses her focus. I went to the Appalacian college for our scheduled reading session on the Monday I got back from Lesley, but she didn’t show up. I figured it was the day before July 4 (and the college was closed) so perhaps it was just a matter of bad communication. But I haven’t heard from her since and her phone is disconnected. (This happens with her often, due to financial restraints.) I suppose she’ll call evenutally and we will get back on track. Anyway, it’s depressing. It’s hard to save the world when the world refuses to show up.

Ouch. Why is it I remember picking blackberries as a kid, but I don’t remember how painful it is. Eeesh. Yesterday, Mark honked at me as I was driving out the entrance of our land to point out a blackberry bush that was dripping with ripe fruit. Therefore, I stopped the car to pick some with him. Not like I haven’t talked about these berries incessantly – anxiously awaiting their ripening. But I wasn’t dressed for the thorn battle that ensued. (I was wearing nylon workout wear.) My hands were stained purple in about two minutes. I felt ambushed by the bush, so I gave up after about a cupful of berries. But today, I’m ready.  I will don jeans and a long sleeve shirt and maybe I’ll even be wimpy enough to wear gloves. I’m on a blackberry quest, don’t ya know.

And to properly inspire myself, I’ve spent an hour on epicurious.com (The very best and most terrific cooking recipe website in the universe – and thanks to it, I can’t imagine I’ll ever buy a cookbook again – try it!)   I’ve downloaded all kinds of fun blackberry recipes. My biggest dilemma now is what to make tonight when I return from battle with my rewards – hopefully two or three buckets of blackberries. I have a great blackberry peach cobbler recipe (good because it is also peach season in Georgia and I want to take advantage of that too). I also have blackberry bread pudding and some pies and such. But we are on a diet (big cooking drag) so I’ll probably stick to blackberry buttermilk panna cottas with blackberry compote. Nice, tidy proportions so no one can complain. Tomorrow I pick up my daughter from camp, so I suspect we’ll be having a big family breakfast Saturday. I’m planning whole-wheat pancakes with blackberry syrup (another recipe from epicurious).

I have even stumbled upon some outdoor cooking recipes with blackberries for my ever-growing wilderness cooking collection. I’ve been on this outdoor cooking kick – not doing it – just wanting to learn more about it so I can. Mark makes fun of me and says, “When you live on the land and can go up to the house to your great kitchen and the barbeque and all, why do you think you’ll ever want to cook outdoors in a pit or on an open fire? Well, because I can, dopey. Gee, isn’t that obvious.  I told him I want to have a big barbeque party where everything is made right there, outside. Potatoes in the coal pit, chili on a huge kettle over a fire, etc… He grins, thinking, that’ll be the day. Ha. I’ll show him.  

Anyway, I’m of to pick blackberries. First I’m going on the mountain here by the cabin, and later when I go feed the horses, I’ll continue on the land. I might even take a run and harvest some of the thousands on the cattle ranch fence (if no one is looking) I think I’ll be looking like a Smurf this month, with blue stained fingers. But I am striding boldly into new territory – the world of blackberries. I always love a good savory adventure.

It has been a busy few days. I am always having a “busy few days” it seems. Heck, I thought I left the rate-race for a causal lifestyle. But I attack “casual” with a vengeance, it seems.

When I got home from my residency, I spent two days preparing my daughter, Neva, for ten days at sleep away Girl Scout Horseback riding camp. This is a big thing for us. For one thing, she has never gone to camp. She has never gone anywhere that wasn’t dance oriented, so her being able to follow her own interest has special poignancy. I worried about her being away so long, sleeping in a cabin/tent and all, but she has written home and it seems, other than the fact that she had to clean the bathrooms and almost got caught sneaking around the campsite one night with her best friend, she is having a ball. The camp posts pictures on their website every night, so I get glimpses of her on horseback, on kayaks, swimming, playing games etc…. She is always cutting up, smiling, all suntanned and hanging on her best friend de jour. Makes me feel mighty happy that we are in a position to provide this experience for her.

The day after we dropped her off, we picked up my son from a ten-day visit in Sarasota. They’ve each gotten the summer experience of their choice. I’m still waiting for mine. Better not hold my breath.

Last weekend, Mark and I took a class at the Campbell Folk school. This was his fourth class. My sixth. We had signed up for “Nature’s Baskets”. This class teaches you to make baskets out of natural fibers found in the woods. We began with three wildly shaped laurel sticks. We are taught to bind them together with rattan and then we attach ribs (wood died brown using black walnuts and boiled water) which create the base so we can weave all kinds of things into the basket. I stuck with only natural items from the forest. Many people added yarn and such – but I wanted something more rustic sans manmade material. I think the end result was great – and it was fun to make something from nothing, so to speak. I wove cornhusks, huge flower leaves and dried palm fluorescents into my basket. Neat.  

I wasn’t much in the mood to take the class really. We signed up 5 months ago, but once the weekend presented itself, I had too much to do to be thinking of leisurely making a basket. I wanted to work on my book and spend time with my son who had been gone for ten days. But, knowing the class meant a lot to my husband, I decided to go despite alternative desires. In the end, it went by fast. Only a weekend thing. So I’m glad I kept quiet and went. Now, when I take walks, I can gather things and whip up a fun basket later. Not that I will, but I CAN. I keep telling Mark that he should start taking me on cruises to exotic places because then, we might have the occasion to get stranded on a desert island. In which case, he would really be able to appreciate this wife of his. I am unintentionally learning some pretty significant survival skills.

We had to miss the last few hours of our basketry class to go to the airport Sunday because we were flying into Sarasota for two days. (Tired sigh) We had some important business meetings to attend – something we were not looking forward to at all. It was nice to see my parents, but the work element was stressful. But one nice outcome is that going back for a short, abrupt trip gives us an opportunity to make direct comparisons between our old world and our new one. The fact is, Sarasota feels crowded and commercial to us– rather ugly- by comparison to Blue Ridge where there is no traffic or over-stressed people, and where nature abounds at every turn. We drove by our old house and marveled at how dismal the neighborhood looked with all the cars parked outside and houses on top of each other. Our house was lovely, but the location makes the overall effect less appealing now. Coming home to our cabin was like stepping outside from the stale, cramped quarters of a too small apartment or something. We also toured our old business, and rather than feel nostalgic, all we could see was the massive work that had to be done, and we couldn’t help but recall the stress that accompanied that work. We were mighty glad to know it is someone else’s work and stress now.  They say, “You can never go back”. That’s true. But it isn’t a problem if you never want to go back.

All in all, we came home with a deep appreciation for the choices we have made. Regardless of the risks, or the trouble, or the doubts and headaches, the fights or inconveniences – we would do it all again.

I often think about how happy I was in New York. I was young and the bustle of the cosmopolitan life had such appeal. But when I go to the city now, it’s depressing, as if too much humanity has been trapped in too small a place, and everyone is agitated and surly because of it. It affects me differently, due to my current worldview. This is not to say one place is better than another – only that one place is better than another for me at a particular time in my life. I think Sarasota was a marvelous place for me for many years, but I matured or evolved or whatever you want to call it, and now I need nature and solitude and simplicity. These things feed me what I need so I can accomplish what I need to accomplish now. I can’t define what I need to accomplish now, at least not in words, but it is a feeling. Somehow, I know I am where I am supposed to be. It isn’t perfect. It isn’t even always satisfying. But it feels right.

So – I am home at last. We’ve attended to the necessary business of living – grueling as it is on occasion.  I have a few days to focus intently on my homework now before my daughter gets home from camp. I’m filled with a new sense of urgency and drive regarding my current literary project. I guess I’ve been hit with a rush of confidence and I want to ride that wave while I can.  I will immerse myself in writing for the next few days while it feels as if I can (and soon will) conquer the world.

My husband began real estate school tonight. He drives 1 ½ hours, three days a week, to attend a class – he will continue to do so for the next six weeks. He doesn’t know exactly where this endeavor will take him, but it will allow him to list our properties to sell them  himself in Sept. ( a good financial move) and then . . . who knows. I admire that he is moving forward into something new – open to new possibilities without preconceived notions or expectations – and let’s be honest – I’m looking forward to the nights alone to get some homework done without guilt.  It will be hard work for him, but nevertheless I sense an interesting turn coming up on our life path. . .

I must go. I keep talking about all the work I have to do, yet all I seem able to force out of myself is a bit of blogging. All talk and no action makes Ginny a dull girl. Can’t have that.

P.S. Mark has the camera tonight, so I can’t attach a picture of my basket to this entry – but I will tomorrow. Gotta show off the few things I do actually accomplish. Gotta keep up pretenses that I’m productive, ya know.  

Getting away is always nice. A new environment gives you a new perspective on life, and being absent makes you appreciate home. Which is why, when I do come home, I want to find things the way I left them, as if life stood still for the term I was away. I don’t think it is too much to ask to have everyone frozen in hyperspace in my absence, just so I don’t miss anything important, do you?

Unfortunately, my family just won’t comply, and every time I go away, I return to find out they dared continue living without me. Not only do they live without me, but they survive quite well, thank you. Bums me out.

When I came home from ten days in Boston, I was greeted by a very alluring young woman, not the geeky 9 year old I know and love. Mark took Neva to get a haircut in my absence. They chopped off 6 inches and had it all layered and styled. She looks totally glamorous. The braids are gone, and now she has this breck-girl doo. The fact that I have been trying to get Neva to cut her hair for months and months is besides the point. Why was it so easy for him to make a suggestion and her to jump at it, when I’ve begged and begged and only been refused? I get rolled eyes when I suggest a new hairstyle, not an enthuasiastic hug. The power of a man’s compliment to a woman regarding her looks (no matter how old she is) is daunting.

I guess the glamorous hair was just the hor derve, because they then went and had her ears pierced too. Of course, I had her ears pierced when she was six, so it is a given that I would approve the act, but back then, Neva wasn’t much interested. Since she never wore earrings, the holes grew back. Now, she is the one who wants pierced ears so this time, she is ready, going out of her way to clean them three times a day. That’s great, but still seeing her with dazzling diamonds in her ears was a bit of a shock. My daughter grew up about ten years in ten days. Hey – maybe I am the one who was frozen in hyperspace.  

Then, there was the shock of my husband’s grooming to contend with. He went and cut off his beard and had his hair cut really short. I like him scruffy – this dapper guy just isn’t my casual, rough and tumble spouse. Kissing him at the airport was like kissing a smooth apple, rather than a fuzzy peach. Hated that. He must have noticed my disappointment, because he was quick to explain that all the sawdust he is creating as he fine-sands the logs in the house is driving him crazy. It gets in his ears and every crevice, making him itch in the summer heat. He says his boggers are like blocks of wood (sorry – that’s gross, but I’m just repeating his commentary). So, what can I say to that? “I don’t care, keep the beard because my personal preference is more important than your comfort and well-being?” Ummm…. I think not.

I just said, “It’s nice to see a new look for a change. . . you big apple-face.” . . . Ha. Naw, I didn’t add the apple face part – that would be mean. But I avoided kissing him much, and I noticed he started growing it back this morning. Ha. Men are like Pavlov’s dogs and I confess I’m manipulative when it comes to important things like maintenance of the George Clooney unshaven look.  Gotta watch these things, or the next thing ya know, he will be wearing suits and I’ll have to leave him for some guy with true style (like the fellows at the diner that wear a torn sweatshirt and baseball cap as they wolf down their bacon-cheeseburgers.)

The first thing we did when we got home was drive to the house so I could witness the evolution (change) that occurred there too. The graders came and finished off our driveway and they pulled out about a thousand trees between the house and the creek to provide a fantastic view. It is amazing. But I stood there feeling badly that I missed it. I like to watch the small increments of change taking place each day – not be broadsided by drastic improvement in one fell swoop. The house is growing more impressive each day. I can’t imagine living there – unless I was the live-in maid or something. Ha. As much as it is out of my comfort zone – I’m thinking I will adapt and feel right at home faster than I expect.

April seemed taller, almost as tall as her mother, Dixie. And she let me pet her and take her for a lead immediately. Terrific. The horses were well fed, the bunnies healthy, the dogs had been bathed. Wow.  Denver had cleaned the cabin, Mark had put clean sheets on our bed – all was in order. It made me feel a bit disposable. Glum.

Then – I went downstairs to throw some laundry in. An AVALENCH of laundry awaited me. Every towel in the house (from bathing those dogs) was in a sour, heaped mess on the floor. Every single pair of jeans, shorts, underwear, and what have you of Mark’s was there covered in sawdust and mud. Neva complained that she had been sleeping naked for two nights because she hadn’t a single nightie clean – she already wore the others several times over. The sheets that Mark so graciously took off the bed were lumped there for me to clean (which made the fresh bed a bit less impressive, all things considered). There were dishtowels, washcloths, clothing, and all kinds of fabric stuff awaiting my attention like a mountain of soiled evidence that life went on without me – but in a messy way.

I stood there, shocked at the heaps of stuff that no one bothered to clean. I said, “What, it never occurred to any of you to put a load of wash in, even once?”

Denver rolled her eyes and said, “Like I didn’t have enough to do while you were gone, doing dishes and making sure Neva got a bath and feeding the horses when dad was busy? Being the mom sucks. I’m really glad you’re home.”  

Smile.

I’m glad to be home too. For two days I’ve been celebrating . . . with tide and bleach! By the time Mark’s beard grows back, I might even be caught up.

Still no power for my laptop.  Sucks to be me.
What is worse about all this is that I have some insightful things to
share. And some funny things.  I guess you could say I’ve
rediscovered my sense of humor these past few months – something long
overdue.

I have been attending readings, seminars and workshops. I’ve learned
new things – about myself and my writing. But one thing I have come to
realize is that the most poignant things we discover are hidden in the
most subtle places. It is not what I’m told that makes huge
impressions, but what I am not told – what can not be put into words.
Silence says so much. Absense of commentary says so much. Quiet is an
answer.  Sometimes, when people are not speaking to me at all, it
feels as if they are screaming.
I guess what that boils down to is: Most of what I gather is through
desperate self reflection. Sometimes that is all you have to go on.

Anyway – I deeply regret that I have not had the chance to bring my
blog friends along on this journey. I’ve blogged in my head – at night
when I lay in bed recapping the day – in classes when there is a lull
and I fade into this world of words that is always capturing a moment
in voice – in the shower, when walking through the campus – all the
time.

I am at the library killing time while my roomate looks something up.  Ah – she is done.
I will fill her ear with all the juicy details you won’t be privvy to due to a technical error as we walk to our hotel. 
Such is circumstance. Take it as you may.
 

Figures. I have a wealth of information to write about, and the plug on
the battery on my computer tore out of the socket leaving me without
power. (I’m on a library computer for a short moment.) It is
torture  living without means to write my thoughts down. I forgot
how to write longhand ages ago – readable handwriting went sometime
around the time my eyesight faded.

I will just assume God is doing me a favor to save me from embarrasing myself while here.

The point is, I am filled with inspiration, frustration, and reflective thought. Nothing new, I guess. 

I just didn’t want anyone to assume my not showing up meant something.
I will seek out a battery tomorrow . . for better or worse.

Good night.

Happy Father’s Day

May everyone treat you with the love and appreciation you deserve.

And may they throw in a dash of creativity too, to make the day memorable.

I will be thinking of all my friends who are fathers today . . . with a smile.

My daughter has two college friends from Florida visiting. Actually, they’re our friends too, considering they were students in our school for years and very involved in dance. It’s been fun having them here. Yesterday, after showing them our land and house and giving them the general Georgia initiation, Mark took them four wheeling. They were nervous at first, but Danielle said, “I just kept saying to myself that I knew Mark would never put me in danger.” I think she is one of the last students we had that absolutely trusted us, and it was lovely to think she still does. Cute.

     When we returned to the cabin, Mark walked them down to the creek. They sat waist deep in the water and laughed about old FLEX memories. We went to a Mexican restaurant that night and I did my usual annoying thing of picking their brain about what they want out of life and how they plan to make their dreams unfold. I’ve learned new things about these kids. It’s delightful to talk about something other than dance to find out who they are beyond that element. Interesting.

     Today, Denver had to work in the afternoon so I took them riding. Funny, but I imagined Erica to be the prissy one, and Danielle to be sportier, but in reality, Erica has an outdoorsmen heart (and former experience riding horses, white water rafting, etc…) so my expectations were off the mark. Erica got on Goliath as naturally as she would have stood at a ballet barre, (OK – she wasn’t much of a ballerina so that is a bad comparison. Let’s say she was as natural as she would have been in tap shoes) and Danielle thought, “If she can do this, so can I.” So, she got on Dixie and followed directions to figure out how to steer this live creature to get around.  We rode through a short wooded path, then out onto a field. Erica wanted to go faster, so she galloped along, and Danielle followed suit. I was quite impressed. Most people are slower to get their bearings when trying something new (especially horses, because they can be intimidating) but Danielle revealed a willingness to adventure. It was nice, walking along in the sun pointing out blackberry bushes and talking about all we hope to do with the land with some of my young, dear dance friends. In a way, it blurs the boundaries of the old life with the new, and that feels natural. I haven’t understood this concept that I must sever all connection with my past (not our choice, but an unfortunate reality). Anyway, sharing a day introducing our new world to old friends was nice.

       Tonight they will experience their first drive-in movie with Denver. I’ll be home doing homework. I offered them a six-pack for the car and they looked at me like I was insane, laughed, and said, “You think we want to sit around in a car by ourselves and drink beer?” I don’t know, I thought that was what college kids did. That’s what I did in high school. I guess what was cool in my day is stupid and geeky now. Ha. Figures.        

       They will be here a few more days. I’m enjoying it.

     They just asked me if I was blogging and when I said yes, they got all giggly and curious, trying to look over my shoulder at the computer screen. Ha. Then, I won’t say more about them (yet). Hard to blog in the very room they sleep.

       Speaking of high school, I need to back pedal on my upcoming reunion. It has been pointed out to me that my 30^th reunion is not until next year. I’m not as old as I pretend. I don’t know why I was sent the 1976 graduating class info, except that I did have lots of upperclassmen as friends. Ah well. My best wishes to that class, whoever they are. I have a year till I make the big three – o. I’m not officially ancient till next year.

    New subject:  I found a building I want to buy. It’s big, 10K square feet (as big as the first FLEX) yet looks small for it is a two story brick building nestled against the road on the main drag in Mc Caysville where the Scenic Railroad stops. The downstairs has a lovely wood floor and wooden knee walls. It is in good shape. The upstairs needs to be gutted and remodeled. That area could be apartments for rent or a store space. I keep thinking of all we could do with it – especially if we give Mark free reign to do his thang. He is the visionary in this all things relying on design. I imagine a café downstairs with an art gallery exquisitely laid out, and the back area a furniture store with handmade rustic furniture (Mark’s art) and artifacts for cabins. We could then have a community room upstairs for reading or writing groups or other community meetings, (we’ll serve the coffee). Perhaps we could use the space for a publishing office too, because I am thinking of starting a small magazine – selling ad space to support it – something artistic and entertaining for “half-backs” (those zillions of mountain visitors from Florida). My mind is on a roll, circling all the possibilities around and around.

    Mark is interested too, yet he feels it is too soon. He wants us to finish the house before we start a new project (and he is right). Nevertheless, I did some research on the internet and found a company that makes consulting videos and research material for people wanting to open a coffee and specialty drink shop. I then found some information on how to run a successful art gallery. I’m fascinated. I’m now beginning my research, just to piece together what this endeavor would be all about.   I will write a business plan and begin the process of educating myself on this kind of business – all the pros and cons. That takes time. Of course, by the time I am done, this building will be gone – but you never know. What is meant to be will be.  Anyway, I feel energized and excited about tackling a new horizon. And sitting with a cup of coffee, reading about the coffee business has a certain poignant perfection.

  I have always wanted to surround myself with what I love. Now, my world is about reading, writing, art and nature. What better way to blend it all? 

   My dad said, “Why would you want to open an arts café? You won’t make a lot – it’s more for a retired person wanting to supplement their income.” Then he paused and said, “Well I guess you qualify.”

      That might be true, but I also think he is underestimating what we can do with a store/café.  We are remarkably creative and we can stretch resources beyond normal limits. Look what we did with dance (we didn’t own a normal dance studio – we ended up with an empire that included stores, preschools, educational products etc…  It ended up making more (and ended up with a business worth more) than any studio I’ve ever known of in my 35 years in this business.) I have already thought of dozens of ways to make our new enterprise unique. It could be a springboard for some exciting artistic avenues– and who knows, we might build a new empire, something unlike other café/galleries. It might be a home for publications, an on-line rustic furniture and Appalachian arts resource, home to arts exhibits, or who knows what.

     The point is, life feels more vivid when we are creative. And challenges are good for the soul. I am drawn to the idea of a new adventure, but that doesn’t mean I should leap (now). Sigh. I just have to get finished with school and slow down a bit to be sure I know what I want next. I have to finish my book. And it has to be right for Mark too. He needs some breathing time before I load him up with a new project. What is the point of success if you’re going to kill your spouse in the striving for it? He is so overwrought with things to do and handle, I worry.

   Gotta keep your priorities straight and remember what is most important in life, and business isn’t first on the list. I won’t make that mistake ever again.

   But that doesn’t mean I can’t start reading – planning- thinking outside of the box.

    Eeek.  Time to go. An emergency has occurred. Our dog was just bitten by a copperhead snake and his face is swollen and he’s sick. Gee – living in the mountains is never boring. I will fill you in on the gory details tomorrow!