My father has died. The words toss about through the sky but refuse to land, like the sparsest winter snow, like flower petals too light to make contact with the ground. It just blows away again and again carried off to somewhere else.
It is all whispers, gathering around me, trying to have force and meaning. But dispersing like mist in the wake of day.
Were we close? I don't even know. We had scarcely seen each other over many years. Living in different parts of the country, we called to talk on holidays. So different, so alike. In not the same way did our feet walk the earth. Yet an intangible wove through us, a connection that had nothing to do with a particular space in time, with any belief, or act, something deep and timeless rendered us akin. It just was.

Just petals on the wind

This was our cherry tree, but it's gone now.

I've let myself be blown about lately, just petals on the wind. NaNoWriMo? What was that I was doing? But I am happy to say that I planted 64 tulips, and had no physical problems. I felt so good that I almost canceled my doctor's appointment for Tuesday the 13th. But I did go, and was shocked when she took my odd on and off again stuff seriously enough to refer me to neurologist. Well I'm sure the neurologist will be dismissive, but I'll have to wait at least four months to find out.

     I let that information carry me farther away, by wondering whether I should or shouldn't take her concerns that I make sure I don't have MS seriously. An unsettled energy invaded me, making me a restless errand runner, flitting about in my car from place to place in pursuit of nothing of particular importance, hoping the pace would offer some peace. Of course I have decided there is no point in concerning myself about it, too many various possibilities, and too much time between wondering and knowing to waste with worrying.

    But still it is in my nature to research. So instead of writing and working on my novel, I take books with various illness titles out of the library and read them. Some seem a possible fit in some ways, but not at all in others. Things can be symptoms of things, but can also be nothing. And when I sit at my computer, I don't go to NaNo, I google health stuff. And so it is that I have landed on MS versus Celiac Disease. Apparently there are a lot of neurological things that can go on with Celiac. So starting the day after Thanksgiving I'll be starting a 4 week gluten free trial to see if my whatever they ares improve. Which means more research and reading for a gluten free diet, and lots of time spent reading the backs of packages at the grocery store.

   At times this past week I have been super frustrated with myself for this waste of time and energy. But forget it, I'm cutting myself some slack. My doctor intentionally worded it, to try and scare me- talking about plaques on my brain building up and getting worse over time. Verbally she threw ice cold water all over me, so of course I'm going to take notice. She did this so I would actually do the follow up appointments and testing. She seemed shocked that I had let this stuff accumulate over the past year without coming to see her, and I was shocked that she thought I should have. So honestly what other response but concern could I conjure.

Hopefully now-I've adjusted and adapted. Reminding myself nothing has actually changed. Tests ordered to rule stuff out are common procedure. So I'm getting out of those cold water soaked clothes, and dressing in something warm and dry. Mentally I needed to fray, but now I need to mend. Time to be getting back on track, settled down and working on writing (and a bit of cleaning. Where oh where is my house elf?).

Actually it is reassuring to know that when I have looked up all the info I can and can't go any further with figuring any of this stuff out, and I am too tired to run any more senseless errands (both of which are points I have reached already), that there is this other world waiting for me. A world roughly written across two notebooks. A place I can get lost, and found, in. Now if only I can imagine typing this stuff up like it is a warm bath I am stepping into, rather than like it is masses of great tangled Christmas tree lights, I shall be forever untangling.

The squirrels unplanted 12 of my tulips- they do that again and...and...I'll..I'll (okay I'll probably just shake my fist at them, but I'll imagine myself flinging them about the yard by their tales. Oh yes PETA that is what I'll be imagining)

   

Lost to time. Feels like February. Last week my son only had school on Friday thanks to Sandy's power outages. Our power went out five times, but fortunately came back on minutes later. That week felt like holiday break without the holiday. Not festive, more bleak than break. Grey and cold. I can't imagine what it was like for those without power, and for those hit hard along the shore. I still can't find images of Ocean City, New Jersey, I search though am afraid of what I'll find.

My husband's brother died last week. I really didn't know him. He suffered from schizophrenia. He was plagued by memories of horrible things- that never actually happened. Do to the severity of his illness in a way my husband lost him years ago. My husband talks of the boy he knew, of the times they shared. I sense the depth of my husband's pain. And he is grieving most, for a life that didn't get to truly be. For all that could have been, should have been, but wasn't, and now for certain, never can be. I am not sure, what, if anything, comes after this form of being, but I pray. And I pray that he is somewhere, restored and well. And that some of the wonderful that he missed out on here will be part of his future.

It is November. I have to keep telling myself, not January or February. Look the fields are still green and gold. If any trees yet hold their leaves they are russet. I am trying to do National Novel Writing Month, but struggling with it. Which becomes more surprising when you consider- that I am cheating- so far I'm only typing up stuff I have already written. So I should be much much farther. I wrote some new stuff for JAD 2 this week,which is good, maybe next NaNo I can type that stuff up. And this weekend I'm bound not to make up for lost time. It is supposed to be nice out, and I have tulips waiting to be planted. The cold weather ushered me indoors before I finished. There are holes left in the dirt, waiting.

I have had a good week and a half- no real physical problems. That said, I am a tiny bit afraid to plant my tulips. Last time I did yard work, about two weeks ago- I got fiercely dizzy. I was fine digging holes and transplanting- but standing still, and walking were awful. I staggered about the yard, walking on an invisible seesaw. Standing still felt like falling backward, and sitting down like falling through the ground. Eh so I am not so keen on repeating that experience. But if I have learned anything this past year, it is that if I expect problems, I'll be just fine so I'll feel like a neurotic headcase for having been concerned. It is only when I don't expect any trouble that I could be in for it. So I'll expect the worst, assuming that will bring me the best, and hope the universe doesn't call me out on this strategy.

It will hit me hard if I can't muck about the yard properly anymore. Because if I can't do it, it wont happen. My husband doesn't understand the importance of flowers. How I dream of them in winter. I love the magic in it, the dark cold days, the heavy white blankets of snow that recede revealing a barren landscape, that bursts forth into blooms. Rows of happy petaled faces, smiling in the sunshine, waving in the wind. What they mean to me, visually, emotionally, it is like planting joy. (oh yeah I went there, full on corny. And I'm not stepping back.) He will never plant them, feeling that if I can't do it, that is proof that we need to streamline, make life easier for ourselves; we should get rid of the ones we already have. He doesn't have the time or energy to do it (which is true). And feels I should save myself for maintaining the house, which includes stuff like moping. I hate moping, I'd much rather dig a hole. I told him that last week, he said, "I can tell." And so you can.

Well at least I am writing again. Strange how sometimes it feels such a part of my life, such a part of me- but then can just slip away- til I realize days, even weeks have past. I had lost the feeling of it.

I've tried lately to sit and type previously written stuff up, but I always manage to run away, off to other things. If that continues into November I'll set myself up for NaNoWriMo. My work will be outside the parameters of the official challenge- but my focus/goal is to do whatever necessary to help me sit down and get all my notebook stuff typed up in a legible, organized way on my computer. And placing that desire within the context of a 30 day 50,000 word challenge should help me get there. If I do that JAD will be the story I go with.

Anyway, my head still hurts from last night- partying? nah, just reading over one of my stories- which is my way of coaxing myself back into writing. Because I can't help editing, and adding, as I read down a page. Better than that though, is that I've been adding little snippets to JAD. Better because it falls under the request I made of the universe-that rather than my sitting down to page, feeling nothing, and trying to force myself to write- that instead it would begin with me going about my day to day stuff, but feeling called time and again, to add something to the story. That it would reawaken within me, and I would feel it while doing other things. Because that is my favorite way to write. Because then I am eager to get to my computer, and it feels like play rather than like prison, a sentence of writing sentences. Like the one way- I'm trying to write,to create, but keep find myself listening to songs on itunes, this way, this morning- I am trying to listen to stuff on itunes but keep getting interrupted by ideas I have to go add to my story. Yes work is still involved, time, effort, and frustration, but this way just makes it all feel right, feel worth it and like what I am supposed to be doing. Ah thank goodness, actually feeling the characters again, their thoughts and emotions a stream I am swimming in. I've been alone on dry land for a while now.

This way is like hanging out with friends revealing their secrets to me, the other way is like trying to interview tight lipped strangers.

been wasting time in a totally non writerish way lately. Time to accept that the new computer I had anticipated having by now, and was waiting for, wont be in my life anytime soon. So as long as this old apple is still working, I should be working.

A week ago we went to Longwood Gardens and saw Bruce Munro's light installment. Loved it. My only complaint was- more more more. I wanted more lights in more places. It was like walking through a fairyland. My inner child and inner writer were delighted. Now if only I could learn how to release enchantment on to a page.

Wasting time in a wannabe writer way.

Spent last two hours looking at photos online, searching for images for my characters. Still struggling with my main man Kin, but I have found faces for some surrounding characters, which actually is good, since sometimes they can be blurry and less developed for me. So giving them a concrete image, forces them more clearly into focus. Only thing is, now I have a headache, my eyes feel like they are crossed, and nausea is setting in. A.K.A I haven't actually gotten any writing done, and I am not going to.

I don't usually go for pretty characters, but this particular story (JAD) does call for it, and, honestly models and actors via TV, the internet, and magazines, are the easiest resource to glean images and thus likenesses from. I mean I know what my characters look like, but I can't picture them precisely. They are always slightly out of focus when created with just my imagination. So it helps if I can tether my image to an actual person.

glug glug glug- just chugging along, typing up notebook stuff. It's disarray (no not in disarray- it is disarray itself).- with one notebook page spanning three totally different parts of the story. Oh how I am not looking forward to all the work it will take to get this story typed up and in proper order.

On the upside (I think), I've realized this story, JAD, can actually have a sequel. I've never had that in a story before. Though come to think of it, I do have a set with a prequel- Fresh Oranges, but the two stories basically stand alone- not having the same characters or anything- and I don't plan on ever publishing the story (Primrose) that came before it. So anyway- I am excited by the prospect of a story with two books. But of course, that means that my notebook now also has bits and pieces of JAD2-fire in the sky, scattered throughout it. Make that notebooks. I have been hesitant to get to the work of typing stuff up, because I am having computer problems- the kind that can't be resolved with this computer. The lovely people at apple told me I can't buy more memory-I am outdated all around-no replacement parts available-and the only upgrade that will fix her, is a whole new computer. Oh and we already turned our vacation into a staycation because our refrigerator died and had to be replaced. Blogger itself keeps announcing I am not compatible with it. Blah. Blek. Stop harassing me, I'd upgrade to google chrome if I could.

So I consider taking the time to type stuff up risky- as I will surely have a meltdown of epic proportions if I can't transfer it to my new computer. But who knows when I will actually have a new computer. And I can't spend the entire summer doing yard work, tending to my flowers- watering them, battling heat waves, the husband, neighbors, and Japanese beetles- all hell bent on killing my plants. Oh infernal weed whacker how I hate the sight of a man holding ye.

Yard work is good though, for writing passively. While watering I realized that more than one story has an angel in it, and several have supernatural or fantastical elements. And I became concerned about whether or not my different stories all have a shared mythology. Of course they don't need to have one- each one can play by its own rules- but of course I want them all to have one (a shared mythology)- for them all to exist together. So I am working on that too, weaving my own universe- a glistening web, that all the little separate planets- worlds of story, can cling to together. And for some reason, even though I haven't even accomplished it yet- the thought of all my little ones under the same umbrella feels right-knowing that they will all fit, and work together, makes me happy.

Whenever I get a new computer- I will be very excited as I will actually be able to share more recent photos on my blog. Don't be surprised if you find October awash in pictures of my May garden. Now let's see if blogger is willing to post this.