Embrace The Suck

[Note: I'm writing this from home, but want to keep things in order) It's hard to imagine that things could have gotten better. They did. After dinner we gathered in front of the small, but warm, fire. I slouched in a leather chair. Amy beside me in her chair, Carol F, backed up to the ottoman in front of me. Laura sat near Amy, Leeanne and Louise shared the couch. Carol O. sat center stage on the hearth.  As the founder and facilitator of Chat Noir Writers Circle, she could have shone like the sun, while we, her planets circled around her. Instead, she sat among us, an equal and leader at the same time.  Her brightness enhanced by the light of her friends. Hard to pull off, but not for Carol. Our last night together began with Leeanne, Laura, Amy and both Carol's sharing their vision boards. It  was amazing to see how board reflected its maker's beauty. We noticed how Leeanne's favorite color turquoise, stood out among the pictures and words she chose. A...

What do writers do after an evening of visioning, a few cocktails, a satisfying meal and a hour long critique of a member's novel revisions? A few go to bed. The others stay up sipping on hot cocoa laced with peppermint schnapps, talking about fortune telling, movies, favorite actors and musicals while roasting marshmallows in the moose-enhanced fireplace until 3 in the morning. (I know that's a run-on sentence, of which I have an affinity for, but not as long as one written about a chicken by Robert Olin.) I should have been taking notes. But I was having a hard time keeping up. It became clear to me that my life is devoid of entertainment that can't be found on HGTV. Netflix is a world unto itself where I rarely venture. I can see I've been wasting my time at work watching back seasons of the Tudors. While interesting, it does not provide the same amount of variety the others in the group take for granted.  I had few answers for a) name three men you'd like to b...

"I'm ready to take a nap or go for a walk,"said Carol F. My eye lids were resting at half-staff. I really wanted a short snooze. But I wanted to walk outside more. So I grabbed my sneakers and sweatshirt and headed out. Down the hill we went. Two women in their 60's who are not quite as athletic as the rest of the group. A walk after dinner is about all we manage at home. Perhaps mountain climbing should not have been our first choice. I took note of the Beware of Dog sign, but after that kept focused on walking at a downwards slant without going head over heels. The weeds, Carol pointed out, are the only green things changing color. I  admired the Queen Anne's lace and rock cairns on the side of the road as we talked. It was not long before we came to the realization that a) going downhill means an uphill walk home which could prove problematic, and b)nothing looked familiar. Note to self: most gravel driveways and log cabins look alike on the outside. Droppin...

The day almost started tragically. If I tell you there are 14 stairs between my bed and the bathroom can you guess that it is a rather risky walk at 5:30 in the morning. I did fine until I missed the last step. Had I not been holding on, I would have landed face down on the wooden floor, looking like one of those bear rugs - or moose - or person as the case may be.  The good news is I did my business and made it back upstairs without incident. More awake than I wanted to be at that hour, I kept running stair-falling scenarios through my head. I have a vivid imagination when left alone to think my own thoughts. At the more civilized hour of 9:30 I awoke to Louise saying, "Oh look!" I sat straight up, thinking there may actually be a moose on the porch or something else as incredible. "What?" I yelled over the banister. "It's raining," she exclaimed. "I love the rain." Thinking about it, the sight and sound of the rain was pretty incredib...

Part of Caroline's nap routine includes down time. Ten or 15 minutes before she goes to bed I start getting her used to the idea of going to sleep. I hold her close and read a story or two, then hum a few verses of "Hush Little Baby ..."One of the books I read is Goodnight Moon. The hum of the ceiling fan is like a hypnotist's voice. "You are getting very sleepy." I notice that the house has a kind of "down time" of it's own. The lights have been turned off. The wood creaks a little. Everyone is tucked in. I feel like saying good night. Good night Chats. Good night mooses. Good night rocking chairs. Good night hot tub. Good night smart phone. Good night trees. Good night mountains. Good night stars. Good night moon. Good night computer. May angels watch over you as you sleep, Merry ME P.S. Good night Sweetie. I love you more than all the wood and moose stuff in this cabin. P.S.S. It's just started raining. Rain pouring d...

I couldn't keep my eyes open one minute longer, so I hauled myself up a flight of plank stairs, and fell into that marvelous bed. This time I awoke to the smell of caramelized onions simmering in hearty beef stock. Like one of those zombie-like cartoon characters following a wafting scent of something delicious, I hauled myself down the stairs, remembering this time to duck under the slant of the roof. If this morning was filled with bustling kitchen sounds, the afternoon is filled with quiet. I can hear talking and giggling coming from the loft. Louise is asleep in the west wing. The rest of us sit with books and/or computers on our laps. A phone vibrates, but no ring penetrates the serenity. There is a place in Jacksonville, called Moosehaven. It's where members of the Loyal Order of Moose go to retire. I don't know what retired Moose do, but maybe they spend their days weaving moose rugs, carving moose heads out of logs and painting ceramic moose statues. I've be...

Maybe I should call it Day 2. Just getting here, to Blue Ridge, GA, was an adventure in and of itself. 3 women, a wheelchair, enough food to keep us going for weeks, if caught in some kind of natural disaster, water, coke, tea, Red Bull, art supplies, blankets, pillows, clothes, computers and 2 bottles of Absinthe at my feet. It was touch and go whether we'd even leave Jacksonville. But 8 hours, 3 stops - which included unpacking the car in order to get the wheelchair in and out of the Ford Focus - we pulled into the steep driveway of a wooden cabin hidden in north Georgia mountains. My writers group, Chat Noir, is on retreat for three days. Retreat, I'm learning, means different things to each of us. There is writing to be done, for sure. But mostly we're here to unwind, to soak up the serenity provided by the cabin's seclusion, to refuel our creative tanks. I'm pretty sure drinking and laughing are at the top of the to-do list. When I say cabin in the woods...

You simply will not be the same person  two months from now after consciously giving thanks  each day for the abundance that exists in your life.  And you will have set in motion an ancient spiritual law:  the more you have and are grateful for, the more will be given you. Sarah Ban Breathnach Simple Abundance It wasn't that long ago that I was bemoaning the fact that I had too much time on my hands. I needed some routine and structure in my life or I would slowly turn into a giant slug. (Okay, maybe I never voiced the part about the slug, but my body was giving me the high sign to get off the couch and get moving, as in work, not exercise. I don't pay that much attention to my body!) After reading an email that touched my heart this morning, I began to feel overwhelmed with all the things I have on my plate. Not the kind of things I want to ignore, like dusting and weeding. Things That make me feel all atwitter inside. Things that make me we...

A guest at our annual Chat Noir Extravaganza a few years ago, told me I remind her of Erma Bombeck. Seriously? Me?  I think I stopped listening after that, imagining myself in the same humor stratosphere as Erma made me dizzy. Not to mention a bit puffed up. I just read an article from The Erma Bombeck Writer's Worshop by Polly Scott*. In the article the author lists 5 ways to write a funny blog post.  Sadly, I'll have to change my whole style of writing if I am to follow Ms Scott's rules.  First she suggests keeping posts under 300 words. Dang. I'm just getting started at 300 words.  And she says to use short, choppy sentences. Come on folks, I've never met a run-on sentence I didn't like and want to bring home to dinner.   And one-sentence paragraphs? What's up with that? I'm all for learning new things, but the truth is I like my way of doing things better. Guess I've got a long way to go to be in the Erma Bombeck league. Photo by So...

I've felt like crying for most of the day. A few tears have leaked out, but mostly I've just had that feeling I get when the flood gates are about to be opened and I'm not sure if they will ever close. I wanted to cried around midnight when I called Weneki to say happy birthday. She wasn't home, so I left a birthday song on her voice mail.  I usually cry on Weneki's birthday. I cry joyful tears at the memory of the day she was born. I cry missing her tears. I cry tears of pride when I think of all she's been through in her lifetime, and how, even when it hasn't been easy, she's risen to the top like sweet cream on fresh milk. I wanted to cry as 64 year old Diane Nyad climbed out of the water after swimming 103 miles from Cuba to Key West. Not so much for her success, but  for the her triumph after several failures. All those "not this times" spurred her on and made her try that much harder. Truth be told, I felt like crying because I'v...

September 2, 1971. The day my life changed forever. I knew where babies came from but had limited knowledge of how they are born. "I think something's happening down there," I said to no one in particular. Shortly thereafter, my plump-cheeked, bald-headed baby girl was born. Fast forward 42 years. That baby has grown into a woman I'm proud to call daughter. She is beautiful, wise, and witty. She adores the color green, crows, movies, and books. She has never met a quilt she didn't like. She eats beets, drinks Kentucky bourbon, and makes a mean guacamole. She loves deeply and dislikes mean people. She has a warm spot in her heart for furry four-legged creatures, a good pen, Las Vegas, and John Denver songs. She is a Tough Mudder, swims like a fish, dances when the mood hits and takes naps. She is a sister, wife, niece, cousin, friend, manager, co-worker extraordinaire. I think it should be against the law that mothers do not live close enough to t...

When Dad was alive we rarely missed going to church. Even toward the end when he couldn't make it, I'd go. I'd sit in the front row, right next to the place reserved for him. [It wasn't really reserved, but pretty much everyone agreed it was Dad's seat.] Sometime in the last two and a half years I moved to the back.  There was no particular reason, I just moved. You get a whole different perspective of church from the back. You can slip in late and no one notices except Delores who stands at the door handing out bulletins and smile. I suppose you can sleep if you want, without catching the preacher's eye. And you can raise your hands in praise without others seeing you. That's not as big a problem as it once was. Before the Hispanics came, our Episcopal church was pretty staid, the prayers rote, the hymns .... well let's say they were what hymns are supposed to be - hymny. When Fr. Miguel brought his "happy band of Christians" into our chur...