Back late last night from a 5-day trip to Arizona, I am grateful for my husband, a dog who is still growing, three dear cats and daffodils filling my nose and neighborhood with sweet scent. Warmth and clear skies help, too.
Last week’s FaBoStaMe exercise of writing 30 short updates in 30-minutes for a Facebook challenge is a dull memory. Since then I’ve been writing poetry, if I can really call it that, every day, in a journal, clean lined paper covered with words missing meaning, nuance, music.
Bah. Blecht. I’ll keep with NaPoWriMo anyway.
This visit with my parents was better in some regards: I got out in the woods with my dad to hunt for elk signs and horns (found lots of sign, but no horns). The exercise and being in the wilds did me some good. And my dad likes it and doing stuff with him was great. But I have to say, I was still a prickly woman, moody. I tired of hearing the same stories (from both of them). Of hearing about relations of friends who have nothing to do with me, or my mother (this is her tendency, not my father’s); they are a repeat of the stories her friends tell her. (Does this happen to you? Do you hear third-hand news as if it is first?) Mother retells others’ tales as if they were the evening news, Fox News (which they watch even though they have become quite liberal — there’s that, at least). I couldn’t sleep in a too-small bed with too-hard pillows. (How shallow I am!)
I did read a lot (having forgotten my knitting). Finally, Eats, Shoots & Leaves. Clever, yes. And helpful. But then my mother tried to foist Talk to the Hand: The Utter Bloody Rudeness of the World Today, Or, Six Good Reasons to Stay Home and Bolt the Door on me, just because I saw it on her table and noted it was from the same author. (See how I am? A grouch over nothing.)I am sure it is a fine read. But I don’t need to do the same thing over and over. In fact, I am not fond of repetition as rite. I made them a nice dinner (and it was) and she wanted it again the next evening. I demurred, saying she could make it later in the week now that she saw how easy it was. I made something else. Entirely. Shoot me if I get to old age and don’t try anything new. (She has always been like that. It’s not just getting older.) I vow to stay connected to the changing world. I will not be an observer, only. Although being a close observer is a natural tendency of mine in writing.
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, an incredibly brilliant book, has become my new recent favorite. I’ve been hearing talk about it for some time. It lived up to the hype. Actually, I didn’t hear any hype. Only that it was quite good. Yes. It was.
And I read three fiction stories from the most recent Tin House for my writers’ reading group, coming up in a week or so.
Words are in my head. My dreams were cloudy while in Arizona. They were strange and vivid last night, but I didn’t think on them as I woke up, so they are gone.
That’s it for a quick catch-up, and confessions, as such they are.
I’ll be around to find you all later in the week.
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Welcome home, Deb!
When I used to visit my inlaws it was the same stories every time, trotted out with a look as if they were sharing a top news story……..how can they not remember what they’ve said lol.
I like the sound of Oscar and please don’t tell me Sport’s still agrowing……Lucy’s 23.5 inches at six months and I think she’s another two inches in her for sure :)
Hello, Dale! xxoo
Jo,
The funniest thing is my dad. He’ll start, “I may have told you this before …” and launch right in, not waiting for an answer. He just needs to tell the story.
I am trying to listen, and not get too edgy.
Ah, Lucy sounds to be outgrowing Sport. He’s 24 1/4 or so, and might gain another 1/2″, and 5 pounds. I think it is him getting longer in the snout that astounds me. Growing into a god’s (oops!), dog’s mature look. Sigh. He still smells good. Not puppy, but not “dog.”
My poor mother tells one of us “kids” the same story three times and then the kids she forgets to tell. It’s an age thing. But yes, I also learn of people who I don’t know.
Hey, ybonesy. It helps to know it’s not an anomaly. I do need to be much more gentle and accepting.
since i have been paying attention to all the wonderful people around me in this blog-place i will repeat this to you: yes, be gentle and accepting — but not just to others, also to yourself. so there.
There is a current mention of Diaz at Griot Girl’s blog. You can find the link at my site if you’re interested. I think this must be a sign I’m suppose to read this.
Glad you had a good trip.
Hey, good to see you around again. :) Yeah, the parent-adult child dynamic is always a tricky one. Add (even slight) age issues, and… it’s bound to be interesting. You know.
Glad you have words in your head. Can’t wait to read more from you this month. How did writing go while you were gone?
I’m glad you’re back. I’ll try to keep my stories fresh for you. :)
My husband says I need detox after being with my mom for a while. Suggested getting hammered or stoned. Kind of anti-detox, as if I were a hyperactive kid who needed speed to slow down.
That’s the thing with confessions. I hate telling on myself.
My poetry sucked while I was gone, being in such a mental place. It’s feeling “better” now. Although it probably still sucks.
Thanks for the words from all yall.
Welcome home, Deb.
I arrived home this evening after a six hour drive.
It’s good to see you home safely. I’m looking forward to catching up on your posts x
Sheesh, just realised I used the word “home” three times. Home is important, huh! :)
Especially after a 6-hour drive :-), Michelle
Thanks for the warm welcome.