The Magic of Water

This was taken at a friend's house and it makes me think I want to live on a piece of land with some water running through it. He can easily walk down to this from the back of his house, and I'm starting to really appreciate that closeness of moving water.

I grew up with a creek nearby, but since I left home at 17 I haven't lived with water nearby. I think the time is coming when that will be more important - to be surrounded by some land - with moving water on it.

There's something magic about water. It washes us clean and strips away what is clinging to us - and maybe what we're clinging to. It can be terrifying and yet calming.

I am a person of rivers and maybe one never leaves that behind. Maybe if you're born to that it is always with you.

That said, given what my family has been living through with the flooding in Kentucky I think I want to have to walk "down" to the creek.

Pike's Peak

You may remember some time ago I wrote about going to the Pike's Peak Writer's Conference in Colorado Springs. My friend, Kate, started a campaign to send me and many of you contributed to the cause. I also applied for a scholarship and was awarded one.

So... I went to Colorado Springs a couple of weeks ago and it was amazing!

It was at the end of April and first of May. I haven't written about it until now because the night I got home and flipped on the news was the night we learned about Bin Laden. So, it didn't seem like good timing, and I'm just now catching up.

I went to sessions on Thursday - Sunday, and it was an incredible experience. The level of writing at this conference was amazing.

A couple of highlights...

I signed up for a session called "Read and critique." You read the first page of your novel in a small group and an agent, editor or author gave you immediate feedback.

In my session agent Sandra Bond was giving the feedback. When I read the first page of my novel she said she would turn the page to read more, so that's good. One of the wonderful things about this session was that you got to hear other people's first pages - that's one reason I knew the writing was really great at this conference. Two people in the session got the go-ahead to send their material to her to look at in more depth.

That's what you're hoping for in such a circumstance - to have an agent or editor say, "Send it." That's the first step to getting published.

One of the other things you could request at this conference was an appointment with an editor or agent to pitch your book to them. Again, the idea is to have them say, "send it."

I got an appointment with an agent who represents southern fiction, as well as other things. I pitched a different book I have that's finished because the work needs to be finished but in my eight minutes with her I did mention I was working on a southern fiction book.

She asked me to send the book I was pitching and said she would look at the novel when it's done. So, that was wonderful. I'm polishing my book proposal these days so I can get it sent off to her.

Who knows what will happen, but it's great to have this in the works. The book I pitched may be too regional - we'll see - but I'm excited that she's willing to look at the novel, too. Now I just need to find the time to finish it.

Overall the Pike's Peak Writer's Conference was spectacular. The level of instruction was great and numerous agents and editors are there. You have an opportunity to pitch them at lunch or dinner, as well as the pitch appointments. I spoke with one person who had gotten requests from four agents and two editors.

So, that's the update on Pike's Peak. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your help and your good will. I will keep you posted on future developments.

Patsy Cooks Cookies

This is what I've been working on the last few days - a Kindle book with 13 of my favorite cookie recipes. These are ones I really love. It's not finished yet, but soon... soon... soon...

A Corsage of White Roses

Ten years ago today we buried my mother. It was a beautiful spring day, just like she loved. She was buried with her Mother's Day corsage in place - three white roses - one for each of her children.

The things that matter to you in times of grief are odd. For reasons I still can't explain I wanted her to have a Mother's Day corsage. The rest of the family accepted that, even though I'm not sure they understood it. I don't even understand it, so why should anyone else. I got her one every year, and for some reason I wanted to get her one last one.

As it turned out, the previous year I had been in Kentucky on Mother's Day, not something that was a given. It's one of those "there are no accidents" kind of experiences.

In the fall of 1999 I was in Guatemala and met a man from Washington State while traveling to Tikal. We stayed in touch and planned a trip together through the south the following spring. So, I went to my mom's and spent a few days - including Mother's Day - before going to pick him up at the airport in Nashville. Had I not met Jim, had we not planned a trip, it's likely I would not have been with my mom on what turned out to be her last Mother's Day.

I've not worn a Mother's Day corsage since then, and I doubt I ever will again. On Mother's Day in the south it's traditional to wear a corsage with red roses if your mother is living, and white if your mother is dead.

When I bought my house some months later I planted a white rose bush in the front flowerbed. It has bloomed every year in time for Mother's Day. I think that's as close to a corsage of white roses as I want to get.

Three Sisters

Audrey Elizabeth Myatt Eddleman, Eva Mae Myatt Pace Waldrop and Mary Lea Myatt Terrell

My cousin, Marcia, sent this photo to me today. It's the 10th anniversary of Mama's death today so it's appropriate it arrived today. That's Mama on the right.

Marcia's mom, Audrey, is on the left. Tomorrow is the 31st anniversary of her death. She died on Mother's Day in 1980. We buried my mom on Mother's Day in 2001.

Eva was the oldest of the five children in that family. She fostered my love of writing by sending letters to me when I was a kid.

It's a day for remembrance.

The Day

Today was my first day in the office since Thursday. I've been on the road a lot for work lately - nothing major - just one thing after another. I don't mind being on the road, but unfortunately, things do not stop at the office when I'm out.

Tonight right after work we had Chicks. My topic was the name worshipping I talked about in yesterday's blog. Some friends on Facebook added interesting information to that idea today - one of the many reasons I love Facebook - and having smart friends.

By the way, if you're a blog reader and want to connect on Facebook, just send me a note with your friend request and I'll happily add you. I used to have my Facebook totally open, but changed it to protect some of my info there a few months ago. But, I'm delighted to connect with blog readers, so just send me a request.

In other news today I went to the cardiologist for a six month follow up. He proclaimed he was "very, very happy" with my heart, that everything was "perfect" and "beautiful." Yet, I have another appointment in six months. I didn't have a cardiologist until after I had surgery, even though I was diagnosed with afib some years before that. But, once you get a doctor of any sort, you seem to have them forever. Fortunately, I like this one, so it's not all bad. And, apparently we've entered into a long-term relationship I wasn't aware of, so it's a good thing I like him.

I have the next couple of days off for working this past weekend. I've toyed with various ideas for fun, but I think I will stay at home and work on the house. I've been home so little the last few weeks that I think I'll enjoy the time here.

I need some quiet, unstructured time. I have some writing that needs to get out the door, but I also need some time to just think and contemplate.

Tomorrow morning at 4:32 marks the 10 year anniversary of Mama's death. I generally do something that makes me happy on that day, because teaching me to be happy was one of Mama's greatest gifts to me, and I will tomorrow, too. But I need some time to reflect as well.

I'm at some crossroads in my life and haven't had much time to just think. So, I'm going to use some of tomorrow for that purpose. After all, we have to continually invest in our happiness and I need to figure out where to put my energies.

The past few weeks have found me out of sorts, as I usually am this time of year. I've come to some realizations that explain why that is, beyond the anniversaries of Mama's birthday and death.

I wrote a post some time ago, asking a little tenderness. It arrives in the kindest of ways sometimes. Sunday morning I was working at the Sampler Festival and Greg's mom called to say she was thinking of me because it was Mother's Day. It was so sweet of her to do that. I didn't have much chance to talk with her because of the event, but it was so very nice of her to call.

Such things matter in ways we cannot imagine when we're doing them sometimes. I try to remember to extend kindness to others as well. Although, I confess, this time of year I am caught up in my own mental exercises, and fail miserably.

This time of year has always been a season for soul searching. Lately I've realized that has a very long personal history that is at once so obvious and so obscure. It was hidden even to me until recently.

This year a new person coming into my life as this was going on caused me to examine things in a different way and come up with a different conclusion. Isn't that obvious? To come to something different you have to do something different. Simple but true.

Unfortunately, as is so often the case, it has not been a pretty process. I'm not sure the word "process" ever evokes anything pretty in its midst. But, it just is. Sometimes you're fortunate enough to have people who will stick with you even when the process isn't pretty, waiting patiently for the other side.

Name Worshipping

I've been reading lately about the Moscow School of Mathematics, and the connection with Name Worshipping. Although name worshipping was condemned by the Russian Orthodox Church, some of the mathematicians were believers.

Name Worshipping is a belief that the mere name of God should be worshipped. It's more complex than that, as most religious beliefs are, but the idea is the name, itself, is worthy of worship. Believers can put themselves into a trance through repetition of prayers.

What is fascinating to me is the idea, espoused by some of the mathematicians, that in order to really work with a math concept they had to name it. That until it had a name, it wasn't finite enough for them to wrap their minds around and consider from all angles.

In today's world, I can't help but think of how one of the first things I do with a new idea is to check for the domain name. If the URL isn't available, I'll choose a different name. Obviously, how we name things is still important.

When I was choosing a name for the Creative Sisterhood group a few years ago I considered many options. I looked at the numerology involved. I tried different permutations.

I have pages filled with ideas for the title of the novel I'm writing. Of course, a title is just another kind of naming.

When we die and erect monuments, the largest space is devoted to our names. One of the first things we get is a name - often before we are even born.

I still thinking about this, but I do believe there is power in giving something a name. It somehow makes it real. Much to think about.

Quote of the Day

"Go to your bosom; Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know."
Shakespeare

Mailbox Missives

A couple of days ago I pulled the mail out of the box and discovered a handwritten envelope. If you're like me, this automatically makes the heart jump. You know it's likely there's something of interest to be found inside.

Such was the case with this, too.

It was a lovely note from someone who reads my columns in Kansas Country Living. This seems to be the season for that magazine to be bringing wonderful things into my life.

I was flattered by the note, which said she sometimes clips articles and finds them thought-provoking, challenging and inspiring. It is always humbling to hear such praise. I'm not sure I can necessarily live up to it, but it's lovely to know people are reading and enjoying.

The Lives People Make For Themselves

I'm amazed by the lives people make for themselves. Sometimes they seem such unlikely existences, and yet there are people living them, one day at a time.

I read the blog of an American woman who runs a horse stable in Egypt. I marvel at the musicians who come through my little town, making a living at what they love one town at a time. I am impressed by writers who dig in and write yet another book, who never seem at a loss for the time to get that done.

It gives me reason to ask what life I'm making for myself. Is it the one I want?

Mulligan

"Mulligan" is a word that has been coming up in my life the last few weeks over and over again. I don't play golf, but someone told me some time ago it was a word that meant "do over" in the sport. I'm so wanting a do over in multiple things these days.

Ironically, while I've been thinking about this a lot lately, I've seen three other people mention the same concept. Something in the air? A friend suggested today that maybe it's the result of the earthquake affecting the Earth's rotation. Perhaps so. Things certainly feel off-kilter.

As is often the case in life, I want to hit rewind and try a few things again. I realize there would be benefit to handling things a different way, with different timing, with more knowledge, with some additional background. A mulligan. A do over.

Unfortunately, life doesn't provide us with those. We have to seek them out, humbly and kindly. Sometimes we're blessed with a mulligan and sometimes not.

Regardless, life marches on ahead and there's not much to do but go with it. And you might as well do it with a smile.

Greensburg Kansas Anniversary

Greensburg, Kansas was hit by a tornado that devastated the town on 5/4/7. We were there a few days later to do some interviews for Mark's radio show. I'm honored that we won a Gold Heart of America Press Award for that coverage. (See more photos and read about it at this link.)

Today, Greg posted a couple of videos taken in Greensburg years earlier. There's one where we go into the Hand Dug Well, and visit Hunter Drug in 1992.



Another from 1996 when it was a focus on Hunter Drug, which was unfortunately destroyed in the tornado.



Looking at these videos it's hard to believe so many years have gone by. Where did 19 years go? Have I accomplished what I had hoped in those years?

What She Came To Do

A few days ago I had the most extraordinary lunch with a friend. We covered many topics, but one thing she mentioned has stayed uppermost in my mind since then.

Over the course of lunch she said she feels like she has already done what she came here to do, so she can relax and enjoy the rest of her life. I find that such an amazing way to view the world, particularly for someone only entering their third decade, as she is. It seems like a blissful way to go through the days and nights. I'm so happy for her.

I definitely do not have that sense. I feel, instead, that I have much I need to do before I leave this existence.

The thought of feeling like you've done what you came here to do, and you can just enjoy your life, sounds incredible to me.

And only a distant dream.

Bin Laden is Dead

Osama Bin Laden is dead.

Most people are celebrating. I am disturbed.

It's not that I think Osama was a great guy who I'd love to have living on my block or anything. He was a bad guy. I know that. I'm not disputing that.

But there's something about celebrating the death of another human being that disturbs me. I'm not saying I'm "right" and you're "wrong" because you feel differently. I'm just saying it disturbs me that we're celebrating and that is the word that has been used by multiple people.

Some say it is "justice," and maybe it is, but it feels more like revenge to me, and I guess I don't have the "normal" amount of desire for that. I don't feel at all qualified to determine that death equals justice. It's not my call to make and I'm thankful for that.

I heard families of some who died in the 9-11 attacks saying it doesn't bring back their loved ones.

At times like this I ask myself the questions I would ask others. How would I like it done differently? Frankly, I don't know. I don't think a trial would be better - I think that could go on forever and be horrible for people on all sides. I don't think him continuing the way he had been would be better - obviously, many have been harmed as a result. I don't think there was any conclusion to this chapter that would be better. But, another human being is dead, and I can't celebrate that - regardless of who the human is.

I realize I am the one who's out of step. I get that. I know that what I'm feeling is the minority position. I'm not saying it's the "right" way to feel, but to celebrate would just make me feel "less than myself."

One thing has been clear - that even this can be political. People who have hated Obama are suddenly celebrating him. I'm not saying he had nothing to do with it - he did order more troops and he did give the go-ahead to do what was done - but it's not like he personally went in and wrestled Osama to the ground and killed him.

Others are saying this is all politically motivated. I think that's a bit cynical, too. If Bin Laden had been found five years ago and killed, would that have been politically motivated? I think it's more about the luck of the draw as far as who the president is when it happened.

I will give Obama "credit" for making it a priority, devoting more troops, and having the guts to say "go" when the opportunity existed. But, lets not give the president all the credit. There were other people involved who were in great danger.

That said, lets not pretend that they weren't thrilled to have the mission. If you're a Navy Seal, would you rather be the one who gets to go after Bin Laden or the one who gets to hear about it?

Apparently Obama, Biden and others were able to watch it live as the raid was happening. I'm guessing that makes people think more about decisions they've making to carry out such operations, and that seems a good thing.

I often realize I'm out of step with the world in one way or another, and watching people cheering in the last 24 hours because Bin Laden was dead is yet another example. I just don't have that inside of me, whatever it is - that feeling that this is the right decision, that it was great it was carried out, that it's wonderful.

Maybe it's as simple as courage. Maybe I don't have enough to state unequivocably that another human being should die, or be happy that it has happened. Maybe I just don't have the guts. Whatever it is, I am lacking in it.

Quote of the Day

Those who plot the destruction of others often perish in the attempt.

Thomas Moore

Writing The Novel

I've been working on this southern fiction book longer than I want to admit. But, it's so much better than the first book I wrote, which will forever languish in a drawer somewhere. Part of the reason this book is better has to do with all the editing I've done, hence the red pen.

I'm still working on the book. I need some stretches of uninterrupted time to focus on it.

I'm sure other people have a better system than I do, but my process to get to the typed sheets with the red pen is messy.



Frankly, it's messy even when it's in the typed form.

Sometimes I wish I weren't compelled to write. But I am. I always have been. I'm sure I always will be.

Newspaper Rack I Painted is at Post Office

Earlier this year I was invited to paint a newspaper rack. There were about 15 artists who did them and it was a fun project.
We were allowed to choose our theme. I love stars, so I decided to use that.

They were unveiled a couple of months ago, but had to be coated so they could be outdoors. Just recently someone told me mine was at the Post Office. So, I went down to get a photo of it in place.



If I'd known how it was going to be displayed I would have done it a little differently. But, overall, I'm pleased with it. It's also in the sun so the sparkly bits I went to the trouble to include are visible up close.



Thanks to the Hutchinson News and Gallery 7 for making this project happen!

The beginning of the project:
http://www.blog.patsyterrell.com/2011/01/newspaper-racks-become-artwork.html

In the middle of the project:
http://www.blog.patsyterrell.com/2011/01/newspaper-rack-art.html

Corn and Bean Salad Recipe from Matthew

My house is always cluttered. There are things scattered about that I've picked up at a flea market somewhere, or a note someone has sent me, or a piece of something I intend to add to some artwork. Although I love to be in a very clean house, that's never my house. My house is overflowing with things I love.

There are things that remind me of people and moments. Not that I wouldn't remember them anyway, but a little something can take me back to the exact minute and it's alive again in all my senses.

Such is the case with this recipe I have had on my fridge for a long time. It was written by my friend, Matthew, in July of 2007 when we spent the weekend on his boat. He made this to share with some friends that weekend and he wrote down the recipe for me before I left - just on a notepad that was lying around.

Little did I know when I pulled out of the driveway that Sunday afternoon that it would be the last significant time Matthew and I would spend together. Less than two years later, he was dead at only age 34.

Recently I pulled everything off the fridge. I'll add the recipe to one of my books. But recently when I started to put it aside I wanted to go reread what I'd written about Matthew when he died.

http://www.blog.patsyterrell.com/2009/07/rest-in-peace-matthew-thompson.html

http://www.blog.patsyterrell.com/2009/07/where-dream-became-real.html

http://www.blog.patsyterrell.com/2009/07/how-i-almost-accidentally-went-to.html

I can honestly say the friendship I had with Matthew was unique. I've never had that kind of relationship with anyone. I valued it then, and I miss it now.

And while it might be adding to the "clutter" in my house, I'm glad I have a little something Matthew wrote that reminds me of our last time together. Because, as I am always mindful of, we never know when "the last time" will be.

Art Jewelry

People are always after me to put some of my artwork on Etsy. I'll admit, even though I've had an account there for five years or so I've never done much with it.
Finally, I've put up a few necklaces I made from paintings.
I'm using vintage sewing materials these days as ribbon on some, which I do like.

You can take a look at http://www.etsy.com/shop/Patsy.

Journal

I write in journals regularly - the old fashioned way, with pen and paper. It is on those pages where I soul search, make discoveries, ask questions and sometimes get answers. Frankly, there are fewer answers than I'd like.

Some themes continue to resurface in my life, and - as of yet - I've been unable to sufficiently answer them. There's a theory we all have lessons to learn in a lifetime and until we do, they keep repeating. That definitely seems to be the case for me.

I don't even know how many journal pages I've filled over the years. Many, many thousands, I'm sure. I've been journaling almost since I could write. It seems like in all that time I would have figured out more than I have.

This weekend I was in the studio and felt an overwhelming urge to write about this time in my life. This is always a particularly difficult time of year, for reasons I've written about recently, and I know I'm not exactly "normal" because of it. So, I try to sort things out on the page. That is where I always go to seek answers.

Maybe there's another avenue, and maybe I should find it.

Fresh Starts

I miss my Mama. I don't know any other way to put it. I miss her. Every day. Every night. Every morning. Every milestone. Every defeat. Every victory.

Today, April 24, was her birthday. Ten years ago on the morning of her birthday I called a nursing home to inquire about admitting her. We thought she was having a reaction to medication after surgery and that while we were maintaining things, we weren't helping her. We hoped monitoring would help us find an answer we couldn't spot. It didn't because she had suffered a small stroke and was to soon suffer a bigger one.

Nonetheless, I will always feel like a traitor for making the call to the nursing home. On her 82nd birthday, no less. Even though it was the best solution we could find at the time, and we all agreed, it was me who made the call, who set things into motion. It was me. I did it. And no one made me do it. I offered to do it. I knew whoever made the call would never get over it, and it was my turn.

I did it by long distance, while on the road, traveling back to Kansas for my job. I didn't even have the decency to turn around and go back to Kentucky and take her myself. I was a coward. I offered, but my brother, Jim, spared me, and I was quick to let him do so.

A traitor and a coward. Not the best of a person.

So, as this time of year approaches, I desperately seek happiness, to try and forget that I'm a traitor and a coward. But, there is no escape from time. And as the calendar dates loom, I become more eager to find joy. I look for it around every corner. I try to grab onto it whenever I see a glimmer of it. I hope for experiences that will make me forget my failings for a little while.

Life is full of the "what ifs," and if we'd known how close the end was we wouldn't have made that call. She died May 11, so there wasn't much time left. When we laid her to rest two days later on that Mother's Day afternoon I knew I would never again feel the same and I knew this time of year would be even more of a struggle than it already was for other reasons.

On her birthday the first year after she died I sobbed for hours. I cried until, literally, my pillow was wet through. I don't know that I've ever cried so much before or since. At one point I said aloud, alone in my bed, "I can't keep living this way."

Quickly the answer came to me that I had only two choices. I either had to kill myself or I had to go on. I went on. Sometimes grace is only to be found in surrendering. The circumstances in which we find ourselves sometimes offer no other choice. We must proceed.

Ten years later, that's what I'm still doing - moving ahead. This year Easter, a time of renewal, fell on the same day as her birthday. It seems a good season for a fresh start.

Cathedrals on the Plains

I took this photo in Concordia, Kansas. Cathedrals come in all shapes and sizes, I suppose.

There was a church spire in the distance, but it couldn't compete with these buildings rising from the ground.

Tenderness

Some days what I most need is a little tenderness in my life - a little extra kindness - not because anything startling is wrong, but because nothing is quite right, either. Today was one of those days.

This time of year, as my mother's birthday approaches, followed quickly by the date of her death, I'm always a little off kilter, a little out of step, a little unsure of myself. There is nothing for anyone to say that will change it. It can't be "fixed." It just is. It can only be lived with.

But if I've been short with you, or out of sorts, or distant, or anything else that seems amiss, just know I'm struggling with my own demons this time of year. I crumble and I reassemble, and just like anything that's put back together I'm a little stronger every time.

When one is in this state of teetering on the edge, the simplest thing can push you one way or the other. I'm blessed that most of the time I'm incredibly happy. I go through my days knowing I lead a charmed existence, blessed by family and friends, with more good fortune than the average person has a right to. And I am grateful. Oh so very grateful for this state of grace, for I know how precarious it is. One small decision here or there could have created a different outcome.

Some people can look pain in the heart and some can only look away. I've done both. I understand both. I'm not asking you to look at it with me. If you can, that's fabulous. But I don't expect that of anyone. I'm just asking you to accept me while I look at it, as best I can, with the hope of diminishing it.

So, I beg from you a little extra kindness, understanding even if you don't, some gentle words, forgiveness, and - if you can spare it - a little tenderness.

David Vidal at Third Thursday Art Walk in Hutchinson Kansas

Tonight was the Third Thursday art and music walk downtown. I was working on projects but thought I'd pop down for a bit. Then I kept seeing so many posts on Facebook about David Vidal, the musician playing at Smith's Market, that I decided I had to go down and hear him. I'm so glad I did.

David Vidal lives in California, but made a stop in Hutchinson tonight to play at Third Thursday. He was amazing! He plays his own style of blues/Americana in a unique way. Yes, that is a shot glass in his hand.



I can't say enough wonderful things about him. If you want to hear music that tells the truth of pain and of joy, you want to hear David Vidal. His voice, guitar, and style transport you to another place. Don't miss him if he's anywhere in your area.

Ordinarily on Third Thursday I end up visiting with people and never leave the first place I go. Generally, that's Gallery 7, but I'm glad I varied the pattern tonight and went to Smith's. I could not tear myself away from Mr. Vidal. Really wonderful music.



He's playing Friday night at Jillian's Italian Restaurant before he leaves for other engagements. I'm sure it will be wonderful.

One of the things I love about Third Thursday is this sort of thing - David Vidal, formerly at the Viper Room in Hollywood, now in downtown Hutchinson. Thank you, Jennifer Randall, for making such wonderful things happen.


Going to Third Thursday always makes me want to be in my art studio. Wish I could find more hours in the days and nights.

You Just Have To...

You just have to like a guy who automatically flops down on the garage floor to play with the cat. And has a system for retrieving toys the cats have knocked under one thing or another.

Talbot the kitty is a love. He plays and purrs. What more can you ask from a kitty?

Welcome Burden

I was listening to a podcast today and heard James Johnson talking about his father carrying him to a duck blind when he couldn't walk because of a cast on his leg. He said he learned he was a "welcome burden" that day.

That phrase just struck me - "welcome burden." Isn't that what we all want in our lives - people who will welcome us, even when we are a burden?

At times each of us, for one reason or another, often beyond our control, is a burden. We all need to know there are some people in our worlds who will accept us and our burdens without hesitation. That they're ready to be at our sides, regardless of the difficulty involved, helping to carry our burdens.

By the same token, there are times we are willing - even eager - to help others carry their burdens. It doesn't feel like a burden, but an opportunity.

Those relationships are rare. If you have one or two of them in your life, be grateful and go to sleep tonight knowing you are blessed.

Hear the original recording at: http://thisibelieve.org/essay/12980/

The Day

Today was the first day I've spent much time in the office in a few days and it was a bit wild. But, we all survived it and I think nothing bad happened to anyone. So, all in all a good day, but a busy one.

I got my pitch assignment for the writer's conference today. Essentially, I get a few minutes with a New York editor, to "pitch" them a book. The goal is for them to say, "send it." It has to be something that's complete, so I'm pitching a small gift book I've written. Even if they aren't interested in this book, I figure it will be good experience for the future.

Of course, all of this as it seems self-publishing is gaining in popularity all the time. But, I feel the need to explore options. I'm incredibly fortunate to have this opportunity, and I want to make the most of it.

I'm considering making my Kansas Country Living columns available through Kindle, year by year. I've been intending to make a book for years now, and got their permission, but have never done it.

It seems this might be a good option since Kindle books are available on Kindles, computers and smart phones. Then when people ask me about something they could simply go buy the book and have their own copy. If I ever get a little time, I'm going to experiment with one year and see how it goes.

That's one of those projects that would be perfect to do on a weekend away. When I was in Ramona I was struck by how much focus one can achieve when removed from all the trappings of daily life. Whatever needs doing in your house is not available for you to do so there's no point thinking about it. That frees you up to think about other projects. Of course, there are always so many projects on my plate it's hard to focus on just one of them. But, finding those blocks of time is something I must do.

I'm thankful I have so many ideas I want to bring to fruition. But, I also know I need to have time to let my brain rest a bit. It's restorative to have time when I'm not working on any of my various projects. It's just hard for me to be in my house and not be doing something. But I also need to find blocks of time for relaxing.

I'm sure it will all work out nicely. It always does.

Many interesting things are going on in my life. It's a fun time, waiting to see what happens next.

Lovely, Dark and Deep

Last night we were treated to a beautiful orange moon - full, or nearly full. I was fortunate enough to be out in the country, so had a lovely view. It was a memorable evening.




As we were walking in this area I couldn't help but be reminded of the Robert Frost poem, "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," that includes the lines:

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Frost said he wrote the entire poem in one evening. I read that Frost was asked what he meant by repeating the last line. He replied he just couldn't think of anything else to put there. I don't know if that's true, but it seems plausible.

Life is like that sometimes. You just can't think of anything else to do so you repeat what you've done before. Of course, if that didn't end well, it's best to work harder to come up with a different idea.

This seems like valuable advice in my life at the moment. I'm going to try and heed it.

You've Always Had It

I am feeling more myself these days. My true self. I have been a shadow of myself for a few years now. There were glimmers of "me," but they would quickly disappear into the background again, swallowed by difficulties of one sort or another.

Life piled onto me, with more than I could juggle. I have been buried in things, confusion, disorientation, and sameness - in avalanches, as one after another, rolled over me. As soon as I dug myself out of one, something else would occur. Because I had let "me" go I didn't have the right coping mechanisms.

Grief overtook my life, and colored every moment of it. I was grieving for lost loved ones and friends, and also for a life I was leaving behind, an innocence that could never be recaptured, for losses no one could understand except me. And I wasn't examining them enough to understand them. But, finally, just like the witch told Dorothy - I now realize I've had the secret all the time - I always had the power.

It was me who left that life where I gave into my whims, took leaps of faith and jumped without a net. I left, seeking a safer existence. My life has been waiting for me to come back. Finally I have beaten back the tidal waves of sadness and am finding "me" again. It has been a long time coming.

It's hard to look for yourself when you know the person you're trying to recapture had some less than savory characteristics. But, eventually, not being who you are is more difficult than dealing with the realities of you. And, you realize that only when you're fully living your own truth can you withstand the buffeting that life brings.

It's not like this is news to me. I've always known it. But, I could see that others do not suffer the same difficulties being "them" as I do being "me" and thought I'd try to mold myself into something different. Somewhere along the way, I realized that is not the life I want.

It is not for everyone the existence I crave, to have experiences sometimes for the sheer enjoyment of having been there and done that, of having met someone along the way, of changing my perspective in some way. And while it is not for everyone, it is for me. I want every moment to be alive with the possibilites of life.

I have always lived life fully, head on, at 110 mph. When you hit a brick wall at that speed it really hurts. So I decided I would give it a go at a more moderate pace. What I've discovered is that while it hurts less when you hit the brick wall that there's no intensity to offset it. So you just go from "blah" in your daily life to "ow." I'd rather have "oh my!" in my daily life and accept the "ouch!" when it happens. Moderation doesn't seem to be my speed.

Finally, I'm finding the "me" who welcomes the world, soaks it up, revels in it, and gives my own energy back to it. I have been stingy with myself the last few years. I always felt the need to pull back, to not overwhelm those around me, to not be "too much."

But, you know what, I just am "too much." It's who I am. And to not be who I am is harming me. So, people will just have to take me or leave me.

If you have to leave me, I wish you nothing but the best. I thank you for sharing the path with me. I understand if you can't be in my world that spins at a different rate. I get it. I really do. It's disorienting when the world isn't moving at your speed. But I have to live in this world. Fully. No holds barred. I'm an "all in" kind of girl. And I just can't make it work for me any other way. I know that's not for everyone. And I respect your path. But, for my sanity, it has to be all the way for me. I'll take my lumps full force. And I'll take my pleasures the same way. I'm just praying for more of the latter than the former.

I'm reminded of a conversation with my dear friend, Fran, on the back porch of her garage apartment in Lexington when I was telling her she had to be careful of her own power. She was not existing fully in the world and as a result that power was being turned on herself and it was destroying her from the inside out.

I've been doing the same thing for awhile, not with power, but with control. For the comfort of others, who I so desperately needed, I have limited myself in some ways. Others, who know me so well, have been wondering where I've been. I am trusting the people I need will be with me as I go forward. Trust is all one can have at this stage.

I'm back. Full force, full on. Finally. I'm back.

No apologies for who I've been and where I've come from. Have I made some unwise choices? You bet. Do I regret them? Hell no.

I have fought hard in this lifetime for sanity. It has been a slippery slope at times, but the way I always made it through was just to keep on going, no stops, no faltering, just keep moving. I walked upright, head held high, through some things that have brought others to their knees. I'm grateful for it. So grateful.

But other things have made me crumble. In the last few years I have been crawling. Still moving, but crawling. I've had my head tucked down, dodging what might come next. It's no way to live. So, arms wide, I'm taking life in again. Hopefully I can keep the best of all these modes.

I almost gave up on myself. But just in the nick of time I'm reentering my own life. You would have been hard pressed to find the woman who went to Egypt by herself in the person I've been recently. I've been too afraid for years. Afraid of everything.

Living to avoid what you fear instead of seeking what you want is a pathetic way to live. And it's the place I find myself. Or did until recently, anyway.

I'm the girl who collects antique linens and treasures her mother's dining room table. I'm also the girl who has dressed in red and taken the stage. I know I'm a study in contrasts but I cannot suppress the parts of me that aren't necessarily "appropriate" in all circumstances. So, I'm saying now, just look away - or drift away if you must - but I cannot be this shell of myself anymore.

Finally I'm feeling more normal. And my normal is intense. I know some feel I am "too intense" and that it "takes a lot of energy to be around me." I get it. I really do. And if you can't stand to be with me anymore, I understand. But, I cannot suppress my true nature. It is killing the real me.

There's a reason one of my favorite quotes is by Zola - "I am here to live outloud." And I am.

Quote of the Day

Live all you can; it's a mistake not to. It doesn't so much matter what you do in particular, so long as you have your life. If you haven't had that what have you had?
Henry James