Anna Scott Graham's Blog, page 7

Like trips around the world

The center of a Mandolin block I started during the weekend. Looking forward to working on it again today.

We're home a day early from our daughter's house in the San Francisco Bay Area. On Saturday my husband got a head cold, so the decision was made to cut short by one day our long weekend visiting family. While I lamented his illness, leaving was the best option, and I went to bed that night mentally prepared for a road trip the next day.

Which occurred, but not as I had imagined, for when I woke Sunday morning, my lower back was a TRAIN WRECK! No idea what I did, but it was something AWFUL, and I spent the early hours hobbling around, attempting minor stretches, as well as ingesting over the counter painkillers, all to no avail. Meanwhile my beloved was head cold sick as the proverbial dog (Do animals get head colds? I have no idea!), our plan to depart on his account now suddenly scuttled by my predicament, DUDE! I was literally limping around my daughter's house, truly uncertain if we'd be able to leave on Monday, much less that day. Funny how plans dissolve, events merging from what we assume into merely hoping I could sit in a chair without yelping.

Then, as if the Red Sea was again parted, my back became a little less achy. My husband managed a rest. A new agenda emerged; he would drive us out of the Bay Area, then I would navigate us home. That was decided after it was determined I could get in, then out of, the car without tremendous difficulty, LOL. He needed to be at home, seated in his recliner to achieve adequate rest while his sinuses played havoc while I, already in a frame of mind that Sunday was our departure day, longed for the familiars of home. With our daughter's help he loaded the car, the granddaughters sorry to see us go, but knowing they are visiting us soon removed some of the sting. I took another dose of painkiller, and by eleven thirty a.m. we were on our way north.

It felt like north to Alaska, like charting a new universe, like forging some alternate discovery. Part of that was our mostly clear-headed consciousnesses, ha ha, also that we'd just traversed Nevada to California the previous weekend. Some was distinctly personal, at least for me, in how touchy was my back; humbling how one's health can immediately plummet to the depths. Traffic through San Francisco was SLOW, then once we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge all those cars struggling to flee seemed to disappear, or were severely culled, not sure exactly what happened to most of them. We made our way through the North Bay, each outlying city and town beckoning for drivers to stop there. After Healdsburg, few vehicles remained. And it stayed that way the rest of our travels.

How and why weren't considered as I took over the driving, pondering how marvelous was it seeing our beloveds over the weekend (our youngest daughter brought the grandsons for Saturday, always terrific having our kids and grands together). How traveling within (and just a little outside) the state of California provides exceptional glimpses of many geographical sights. How blessed am I to have the opportunity to travel, and of course, how grateful I was to be going home, bad back and sick husband notwithstanding. Being seated for several hours didn't harm my back and my spouse was able to rest. The last stretch was filled with recounting the weekend, as well as keeping up with the NY Knicks/Indiana Pacers basketball game as spotty internet service allowed. We reached home safely just as the contest wound down, watching New York deny the Pacers a 3-0 series lead while a pot of echinacea tea brewed, hopefully easing his stuffy head and keeping me from getting his cold.

We both slept well, waking to a gorgeously sunny Humboldt day, as though the abundant brightness found in our previous locales tagged along for the ride to the North Coast. My back is still meh, his cold remains, yet we are home where we can heal best, and we possess awesome memories to sustain us until we are reunited with those we love most. And as we're planning to acquire baby chicks in less than a week (EEP!), home is where we'll be for a good long time. Maybe not fully at 100% before chick acquisition, but certainly in decent frames of mind, body, and of course soul.

Happy Memorial Day to all celebrating it and welcome to the start of another week!

Being brave

Home again and happy to be here! The roses above greeted us on the front porch; clouds were thick and we even received some drizzle last night, although night now depends on your mood. It was still light at well past half eight (8.30), the heavy mist reminding us that while we'd been in Nevada, now we were back along the North Coast. I wondered what the chickens would think of rose petals this time next year....

Lol! Chickens are still on my mind, but other items lurk in the gray matter, one of which *might* be the start of a novel. Maybe. Possibly. Really? I don't know for sure, but I am feeling like closing my eyes, allowing the muse to open the door where my writing hat lives. The muse could wander into that room, setting the cap gently atop its head, and maybe, MAYBE, I'll find myself writing another book.

In the interim, there are chickens to consider, the garden in need of attention, some sewing to ponder, and bravery is necessary for it all. On Being Brave is the title I've considered for, ahem, nearly two years for the next Enran Chronicles book, or was it Brave Upon Being.... One of those was slated as Book Five, and the winner is On Being Brave. Which might mean more than what the story entails, or stories, if I do what is needed, if I can be brave. A whole lotta courage is required for the next few weeks, what with baby chicks and other decisions that six months ago I never would have considered. I was dreaming about courage within a manuscript, but never anticipated what else might call for extraordinary fortitude.

And without being cagey, let me note that pulling a novel outta my backside is one HELL of a dream! Chickens notwithstanding, I've been wanting to write for...a long-assed time. Perhaps I'll shut up about it now, don't want to jinx it. Overthink it. Ruin a perfectly good what might be with a lot of BLAH BLAH BLAH.

Like going away for a few days and coming back to roses! Sometimes everything comes up roses. Sometimes being brave permits one's heart to throb for the best reasons. Sometimes....

I write the life I want to live

Nevada in the distance.

Sometimes, as I'm reading one of my novels, I realize how dear are the characters and how grateful I am to slip into that fictional realm. I don't live near my kids or siblings, but in many of my stories, they are at my beck and call.

For eleven years I dwelled in Yorkshire, England, and while we loved it there and would have liked to have stayed longer, it was never where we were meant to remain. Yet that decade plus one year taught my heart that despite distance, beloveds are never truly far away. And now, pushing twenty years since our return, the children we raised there have their own families, and that is how my existence has evolved.

Except, lol, within my books.

In several of my novels, sprawling families live yards away from one another, multiple generations residing in the same house. I grew up as the one of the youngest in my large clan, surrounded by many elders who inspired my sense of how necessary are all ages within one's related group. I don't lament too often how I wish for that kind of camaraderie; life is what it is and I am happy in Humboldt County. Right now I'm in Nevada with my hubby, visiting our son who has lived in this state for nearly nine years. We try to get over here once a year and it's nice to shake up the routine. I get a lot of stitching done, haha, having brought several blocks for Alexandria with me. There's also time for reading, hence I enjoyed Chapter 44 of Gracious Mysteries this morning, bringing to mind the idea for today's post. Not that I want to have endured the hurdles Brynn, Mirella, and the rest are enduring, yet their closeness makes me yearn to connect with my own kids and grandchildren. All things in good time, I remind myself.

In the meantime, here's an excerpt from what I read this earlier today. Writing this series wasn't an easy task, yet completion and publication occurred, reminding me everything has its time and place. Right now my space is several hours from home, but near my middle child, and that is exactly where I'm supposed to be, as are all my beloveds in their respective domiciles.

 

Gracious Mysteries

Chapter 44

 

Two days passed, those in Hatchleyplanning a homecoming supper, although Brynn often lingered at Naquel’s housewhere all assumed Nasri and Kig would first stop. Pollette had received Mo’sletter, sharing it with everyone at the Yola Homestead. Finn asked if she couldread it privately. Mo had kept the note free from overt personal salutations,which had at first irritated Polly. Now she anticipated seeing him again,having gained a newfound respect for his foresight, which Mirella mentionedwhen Polly again assisted with Mirella’s bath. While Mirella didn’t speak ofher mother or daughter, Pollette wondered if the elder Vodali was altering herstance on having dismissed her late relatives. Or maybe considering Suja wasn'tas heartbreaking as contemplating the rest of her family.

On the third morning of Nasri andKig’s travels, Mirella received a cable from Yunka Territory; Da Lorma wrotethat her mother had died, not of the plague, merely from old age. Mirella sentFinn to retrieve Brynn and Ronan, both waiting at Naquel’s. Mirella then weptbriefly, Polly and Ava at either side of her chair. “Can I do anything DaMiri?” Ava asked.

“Keep Lorma and her family in yourprayers maja. As one enters this life, another leaves. It is nothing new, norwill it change. Yet I am grateful it wasn’t the sickness to take Rania. Givesme hope I’ll outlive it.”

Polly patted Mirella’s hand. “I’mglad to hear you speak that way.”

“I am too,” Mirella laughed.“Wasn’t so sure how long I might last.”

“There’s much on the horizon DaMiri, not to mention your influence on my baby.” Ava stood, then walked towardthe hallway. “I think I hear her now.”

“I don’t hear anything,” Pollysaid.

Mirella chuckled. “Ah so Pollette.Have you forgotten how a mother hears with her breasts?”

“Exactly Da Miri,” Ava laughed asshe reached her closed door.

Within seconds, Pree’s whimperswere audible as Ava collected the baby from her cot. Polly stood, shaking herhead. “Roque didn’t nurse for long,” she said, sitting on the sofa. “He was soirritable I put him on a bottle. My mother gave me grief, but she wasn’t theone trying to feed such a….”

Ava joined Pollette on the sofa,Pree already at Ava’s chest. “You don’t know just how good she is,” Polly saidsoftly. “Was Finny this placid?” she then asked Mirella.

“She was, although Brynn mightdisagree. How old was Finny when we reached Yunka Territory Polly, I honestlydon’t recall.”

“A little older than Pree maybe.Or maybe not.” Polly sighed, then cleared her throat. “I wonder what Nasri andKig will have to say.”

“About our traveling, probably thesooner we leave the better. But I am happy to wait until Ava and Pree areready.”

Ava glanced at Polly. “Seti and Ihave been talking about that. Maybe we can go once the roads are clear. Ididn’t think Pree would be so easy to care for and I’m feeling quite strong.”

Polly grimaced. “But she’s stillso little. Are you sure?”

“She’s not going to get any easieron the road than she is right now.” Ava smiled, then studied her baby. “DaMiri, what are your thoughts?”

Mirella didn’t respond and Pollywondered if she had drifted off. Then Mirella snorted. “Let us hear from Nasriand Kig, as well as celebrating your nuptials Ava. But I agree that Praa Preewill only become less compatible with traveling with each passing week. Thedistance is short compared to our sojourn here, the hardship non-existent. Yetwe must ascertain from Timral and Molarn when our arrival would best suitthem.”

“I’ll reply to Mo right now.”Pollette went to her feet. “If there’s space for all of us to quarantine, thenI guess we’ll see how everybody feels.”

Pollette walked to the hallway,but Ava didn’t move from her spot on the sofa. “Da Miri, what happens when aVodali dies?”

Mirella sighed softly, then sat upin her chair. “Come closer Da Ava, if Praa Pree allows.”

Ava scooted toward Mirella’schair. “I don’t mean to intrude, I was just curious.”

“As is your right. We bury ourdead before the end of day, unless they pass after sunset. Then they areinterred the following morning. We pray over them, aware they still exist, butnot within our line of sight. Their lives, good and bad, entwine with all whohave gone before them, permitting the lesser aspects to fade away. Sometimesthat leaves their spirits rather thin,” Mirella smiled. “But it also leavesthem open to assume the good of the rest. And that good falls upon us, althoughsome don’t see it that way.”

Ava nodded, then gazed at Mirella.“You mean those like Orland Quinn.”

“I do, but I also mean that amongmy people, both here and beyond, the greater good overtakes that which appearswithout purpose. The Walan believed they could destroy us by enacting genocide.But you have named your baby for a Vodali. You are Yunka, Pree is Yunka. Bothof you are also of me, just as Brynn and Finny are.”

Tears trickled down Ava’s face.She tried to speak, but sniffled instead.

“Recently I told Polly I hadreleased my family, and by that I meant all who the Walan executed. I had to dothat Ava or I would not have survived Affinia’s return, then how she wasmurdered by the Beralk. They were stronger than the Walan, but still could notexterminate us. Lorma’s family, even Nanli and Asq’a Quinn, will disprove thosedark intentions as well as those of us here. But it is not easy to moveforward, sometimes we have to leave parts of ourselves behind in order to heal.Thaydon is that way too, and perhaps I need to open my heart to Q’Tan, toPreeaba and Abet, to my grandsons and to….” Mirella wiped tears that fell downher face. “My beloved Affinia, ah so, she was the delight of my heart. WhilePreeaba also suffered under the Walan, she was an adult. Yet Affinia was notmuch past Finny’s age. Seeing her return with hair exactly like mine, yamar.Yamar ah’see Ava, yamar ah’see!”

“Oh Da Miri….” Ava wept, cradlingPree.

Mirella blew her nose into herskirt, then smiled. “The pain is intense maja, but I am not alone in feelingit, or in healing from it. Perhaps that is why I must remember them now.Thaydon’s heart is similar, wishing to avoid what he knows will cause deepinjury. But the blessing awaits. And Ava, you must remember this too.”

Reaching out, Mirella squeezedAva’s knee. “I told you this baby was good, and she is, ah so. Yet I also spokeyou would bear more than her. And you will, but do not be afraid. Seti will beat your side. He is a good man, many losses he has suffered. You and Pree arethe gifts which balance out the hardship. But such is the way of this life.”

Ava nodded, then set her baby overher shoulder. As Pree burped, Ava grasped Mirella’s hand. The elder woman’sbony grip sent shivers through Ava, but she shook them off, stirring anotherbelch from her daughter. Mirella chuckled, then leaned back in her chair.“Cover me please maja, it’s time for a nap.”

Ava nodded, placing Pree againstthe back of the sofa, then arranging the old quilt over Mirella’s lap.Collecting her baby, Ava then walked to the dining room window, seeing Brynn,Finny, and Ronan approach, Seti behind them. Ava put a finger to her lips, thegroup nodding as they walked toward the house. Finny blinked away tears, butSeti wore a smile. Closing her eyes, Ava mulled over Mirella’s words as thewomen entered the house, then a man stood at Ava’s side. Seti kissed Ava’scheek as she opened her eyes, finding Brynn and Ronan kneeling at Mirella’schair. But Brynn didn’t disturb her grandmother, chanting quietly in Vodaliwhat to Ava sounded like a prayer sent to Da Lorma and her family. The familiarhum of tea being made resounded from behind Ava and she leaned against Seti ashe wrapped his arms around her.

It's four p.m. again

A Kaffe Fassett placemat I finished earlier today. The purple thread used for hand-quilting disappears into the print, a nice effect.

On Tuesday, 13 May 2025, it's once again after four. In the afternoon. How the heck are the days passing SO QUICKLY?

I honestly don't understand, although my dad warned me about this over twenty-five years ago. Dad said, "I remember being your age and thinking time went by fast. And now it goes by EVEN FASTER!"

He wasn't kidding! Because each day passes, and suddenly it's nearlyfour p.m. Time to think about doing my stretches. Then it IS four o'clock, dude! Sometimes I do my stretches, lol, like today. After wrenching my knee in March, my exercise routine went wonky. My knee is pretty good now, although I hurt my hand doing some raking a few days ago, yet icing my right index finger worked wonders. And now it's four twenty-eight, in the afternoon, in nearly the middle of May.

If Dad was still alive, I'd ask him how quickly time goes for him now. In thinking that, I miss him, but he's been dead for over a decade. I won't say, "HOW DID THAT HAPPEN?" because it's simply the nature of aging. Time races like no one could fathom until they experience it. I can't even warn my own kids because just like how I felt when Dad told me, they wouldn't be able to comprehend the speed by which the minutes slip away. I'm having a hard time and I'm LIVING IT!

Just a little something to note, in part that I'm flabbergasted at how fast time passes, and because it's good to ponder these hallmarks of getting older that don't hurt. Like my knee, yay! And my hand, bonus yay!

And now it's time to move onto the next task for this day, like drying some dishes. Saying a prayer. Being thankful for what time remains in this day.

In my Humboldt opinion

Snapped a few days ago in our backyard. Spring is definitely in the air!

This morning my husband took me out to breakfast, an early Mother's Day treat. On our way back we chatted about the baby chicks we plan to get at the end of the month. Further conversation emerged, and I said, "Well, in my humble opinion...."

I can't recall to what I was referring because he immediately replied, "In your Humboldt opinion?"

I chuckled, he did too. If I didn't like the title of this blog, maybe I'd change it. But In A Bookish, Quilty Mood suits this space, although in my Humboldt opinion, a little more of where I dwell could be included.

It was cloudy when we left home, sunny upon our return. I hurriedly put bags of non-perishable food by the mailbox for the Stamp Out Hunger food drive, which were collected less than half an hour later. It's a quiet weekend for us; no protests planned or guests visiting. I am hoping to watch some playoff basketball later, if the New York Knicks can keep the Boston Celtics at bay. We're not sure about sitting through the Golden State Warriors game, might be too stressful. I have plenty of sewing to distract myself with, both in the living room and in the guest room, where I have finished tacking down the perimeter fabrics for the current Kawandi-inspired quilt. I also want to make split pea soup today, in that it's supposed to rain tomorrow and on Monday, and if I cook today, I won't have to tomorrow or on Monday, LOL.

Sometimes life is merely about the mundane, or keeping one's heartpeace focused on the mundane. Because being calm is better than being agitated, 'nuff said.

And maybe in Humboldt County, calm is allegedly what we're all about, cannabis not always necessary. Insert winking emoji HERE!

A world filled with colour

Done! And so much fun in the doing.

I finished the Lego rainbow puzzle. Another puzzle is on the table, edge pieces accumulated. It's more monotone, not sure how it's going to be.

I am SO PLEASED to have these in my stash and cannot WAIT to use them!

In fabric news, I've accumulated several prints from Guicy Guice's Entwine collection from 2021(???). I'd wanted to EPP these beauties into a quilt, then considered machine-piecing them instead. Then today I stacked up what I've gathered, some extra wovens included for good measure, and in doing so realized machine piecing is probably not the correct manner, or at least in stitching squares that would have measured three and a half inches once sewn. Instead I'm back to hand-sewing, or planning to hand-stitch once I've chosen an appropriate fabric for the center X, in white/light cream. As I was telling my husband, English paper piecing with low volume fabrics is tricky, as often the folded-in seam allowance shows through the fabric and that is NOT the look I want for the center of this quilt.

Of course, when I start this project also depends on when I finish the Mr. Carter heart EPP quilt, of which I plotted out the last six rows yesterday. Those hearts are bagged and labeled, rows A5, B5, C5, D5, A6, and B6 waiting patiently for me to sew them into long strips, then affix them to the ever-growing quilt top in progress. After that's completed, I'll use it as the back for a Kawandi-style quilt so the recipient will have a two-sided comforter, woo hoo! 

This is the picture I'll refer to when sewing just in case the bagged hearts somehow get jumbled into a wild heap on the floor. I really HOPE that doesn't happen, lol.

Meanwhile, speaking of Kawandi-style, I'm still working on the Kawandi WIP that currently usurps the guest bed. I need my husband's help to move it to the office work table so I can tackle the side that I can't reach in where it lays at the head of the bed. Maybe we'll get around to moving it tomorrow.

This is where I'm at right now, steeped in cloth-projects, all vibrantly hued. Spring is a perfect time to indulge in bright fabrics, be they woven or warm. I'm also dabbling in making summer placemats with some Kaffe Fassett fat quarter remnants. I have two done, several more waiting, and will stitch on one this evening while playoff basketball proffers the background noise. I will note it's not all sewing; I've been reformatting a novel released a few years ago. Once my Smashwords account is merged, I'll upload the new version of The Possibility of What If. Currently it's double-spaced, which I never do, yet I did for this series. Gracious Mysteries will be next, but I reformatted That Which Can Be Remembered last summer. I'm re-reading these books merely for my own enjoyment, during which I'm reminded that telling a story wholly unrelated to my life is a lot of fun.

No matter how tumultuous world events are, maintaining peace within one's heart is paramount. It's not easy; yes I am distracting myself from what is occurring within my nation by steeping my eyes and mind in gorgeous shinies that I can handle and ponder. Yet I also pray for peace in my nation and world, calm in my little corner of it too. Honestly, that's all I can do. My efforts won't change this planet, but they will keep me in a good humour, and with that, who knows what can happen?

The unexpected joy of not writing

When happily not writing, I manage some gardening. Or potting up marigold plants, placing them on the back steps.

It's a funny concept, that title. Yet I authentically felt that a day or two ago, like some kind of gift from heaven.

Because when I'm not writing, often I'm cross about it. Not in a spoil my day sort of magnitude, but in this niggly I should be accomplishing something related to writing. And no matter how busy I am with other agendas, no matter how happy I am, always (ALWAYS) there is a deficiency if I'm not writing something new or basking in the glow of new work recently completed.

If I wanted to analyze that, and I don't necessarily do, but if I CHOSE to analyze it, I'd say that for much of my adult life all I wanted as a personal goal was to write fiction. I didn't get started until I was forty, and for the last nineteen years (GULP), writing has been my.... Okay, first, since I haven't written anything new (and finished it) in well over a year, it hasn't been nineteen years, more like seventeen and a few months. Regardless of how many quilts I fashion in varying styles, first I am a writer.

I also planted some spider babies; they live in the mudroom for now, destined for the living room once they're thriving.

Okay, after Christian, wife, mum, abuela, etc. I am an author and for over a year I haven't written anything other than a couple of chapters which might be the beginning of my next book. The weight of that missing element colours how I perceive myself, not so much for the better, yet it has. Or it did until a day or two ago. Suddenly not writing didn't chafe, hurt, or aggravate. Because, guess what Present Me - not writing is OKAY.

Wow. Huh. Yup. Not writing is absolutely FINE.

I can feel Past Me twitching. Future Me smirks. Meanwhile Present Me sits on the sofa, typing out some fairly revelatory sentences. Not writing is part of my life too. And maybe, as I age, not writing might be more of the norm.

DUDE!

Yet it's true. Will not quilting also go the way of not writing? I'm not prepared to answer that. All I can say today is not writing doesn't....hurt. It's okay to be an author who isn't currently producing a single written word (because I don't count blogging as writing).

Why not, Future Me asks with a dose of snark in her tone.

Um..... Because it's not fiction, I reply in a voice almost that of a retort.

She nods, grips her upper body, then taps her foot. You blog a lot, you know.

Yeah, I know.

It's writing, you know.

It's real life, I answer.

She laughs, then snorts. It is, she begins, but it's still writing.

I glance her way. Am I going to start producing non-fiction?

Oh no, she smiles, again snorting. It's just that what you view as writing isn't merely the made-up stories. It's far wider than that.

Are you saying merely possessing the ideas for novels counts as writing?

She shrugs, then drops her arms to her sides. Just be aware that writing isn't wholly composed of sitting in front of your computer. It's more encompassing than that.

Huh. Really?

Really.

Huh. So, I say softly, does this mean I'm going to write something new soon?

Maybe, she grins.

More than these posts, I proffer.

Her smile is beatific, then she sighs. Just be aware this unexpected joy covers a gamut. All you think you need to do pales to what is most important.

I nod, because I'm pretty sure I know to what she's alluding. Stay the course, I say.

Yup.

I nod as she walks away.

Sewing (and doing) what I can manage

Having turned fifty-nine recently (AHEM), I'm stitching left-handed when I can, or as long as I have the patience to do so. My right shoulder is still niggly despite ibuprofen and being iced several times a day. Although I think it's getting better, but as I use a mouse with my left hand, perhaps sewing will also morph the same.

Aging is better than not, and other than that wonky shoulder I have few complaints. Daylight increases in a marvelous way, and the ground has dried out from our very wet winter. Marigold seeds sown over ten days ago didn't germinate, but the green beans and peas my husband planted are doing well. I have new fabric to use, and have decided it's time to turn a thrift store lap quilt my sister-in-law let me have become the filler for a new Kawandi quilt. That's a decision that needed to be made, because that poor EEP beauty just requires too many repairs, front and back. Now it will form the batting for something NEW, and that's not a bad thing.

This will become quite a heavy lap quilt, but I gave away one of a similar weight, and miss having a small but warm blanket.

I used my machine to fashion the back; I haven't used my sewing machine in many weeks! Which seems as odd as using my left hand to sew, lol. I actually have a machine-pieced quilt in mind, we'll see how that comes along. I'm into woven fabrics after reading this post by Lisa Silva, and while I am planning to make my own version of her GORGEOUS quilt, my aching shoulder requires some time with my butt in the sewing machine chair.

Often I think, "I'm not going to A, B, and C anymore because now I'm going to X, Y, and Z." This applies for novels as well as quilts, as once again I'm knee-deep in a lengthy saga, and after The Hawk, I thought I wouldn't write something so involved again. At the beginning of this year it was all Kawandi quilting, which I still LOVE. Or how nearly twenty years ago when we came back from England, I finished up a bunch of cross stitching projects, promising myself I wouldn't have so many different projects going at once. LOLOL! I won't count how many EPP quilts I have started, and what about the Quilt of Grace that lives on the sofa two feet from where I'm sitting? (With the Mr. Carter heart EPP quilt draped all over it....)

Lots of colour on my couch!

To my right are the books I'm currently reading, although I've finished Letters and Papers From Prison, but I'm using it as a reference to Love Letters From Cell 92, the collected correspondence between Dietrich Bonhoeffer and his fiancee Maria von Wedemeyer. That book was a birthday gift from my husband, bless him! I just finished Jubal Sackett by Louis L'Amour, which I picked up over a year ago from a thrift shop in honor of my dad, who LOVED Louis L'Amour. Jubal Sackett was pretty good, written in first person, not my favourite POV. I did skim a few sections, but overall I enjoyed it, and now it lives in my collection of books and will be kept forever. Or until I die.

Not that I'm at the end of my days. Hopefully I'm far from it. Still SO MUCH to sew, hahaha, and certainly plenty to write, um..... Yeah. Lots of novel ideas in my brain, maybe one of these days I'll eke out another installment of The Enran Chronicles. I have formatted the next books for The Hawk, and I'll start reading through it, well, one of these days. I'm feeling kinda flitty right now, from fabric project to project, from editing to wanting to write to lots of reading! The puzzle is nearly done, just need to finish the blue section. I don't lament the marigolds that didn't sprout, maybe I'll buy some plants this weekend. There's a May Day protest I want to attend as well. We'll see how everything fits together.

And of course I have chickens on my mind! In four weeks we'll get baby chicks, dude.... Lots to do before that happens, and I had entertained the notion that maybe I would have managed some writing by now. NOPE! I'm still waiting for my Smashwords account to be gobbled up by Draft2Digital. But that's been supplanted by all the sewing I want to accomplish, both in what I've already started and what I'm itching to begin.

Is it silly for me to have so many WIPs of all shapes and sizes going when I'm now a year from sixty? I don't know. Maybe all these commitments will keep me going. Perhaps I'll kick off with more storage totes than is right for one person, not that I'm a hoarder, but I do have several totes and most are, well, full. I don't want to have all these loose ends, I will say that. I have five hexie shirts to make for the granddaughters before the end of the month. I have so much in the way of gifts I wish to bestow, stories to write, cards to make, books to read..... But I'm not in my forties now, I haven't been that young in ages. Yes I'm wiser, or I hope I am. But lately a shiny flashes brightly and I'm off chasing it as fast my fifty-nine-year-old frame can go. Is that good? I don't know.

The Kawandi process has begun!

What I am sure of is that I am NOT BORED. I'm fifty-nine with plenty to do and decent health at my back. Left-handed sewing is slow and awkward, but it's better than not sewing. Editing isn't flashy, but I'm grateful to be dabbling in the writing lifestyle. Smashwords has been a fine gig, but it's time for something new. I might be getting older, but I ain't dead yet. Just need to remember my life doesn't belong to me. It's a cozy little roll in something far bigger. Have a lovely weekend and keep that heart-peace beating!

A deliberate slowness

Puzzle progress as of last night.

Kinda like semi-retirement, but not....

Sometimes life grinds to a halt; projects sputter, poor health intrudes, ideas meander as new shinies flex their muscles. Sometimes all of that is tangled together, sometimes separate. Sometimes the best laid plans simply go awry.

Right now life feels that way. My life, but perhaps others. Probably others. Maybe heaps of others. Today I finished the letters portion of Letters and Papers From Prison. Appendices remain, but Dietrich Bonhoeffer, his brother Klaus, and their brothers-in-law Hans von Dohnanyi and Rudiger Schleicher were executed for their roles in the plot to assassinate Hitler. Hindsight provides as much information as exists, yet for all their prayers and wishes, those men, and so many other people, did not survive that awful war.

My still aching shoulder precludes serious hand-sewing. Typing out journal entries from 2002 hinders new written work. Gray windy weather hampers my small gardening efforts. Other endeavors within my existence feel hemmed in by this, that, and another hurdle or three. It's as though I am severely curtailed on many fronts, other than the puzzle. The puzzle is coming together just fine.

That's quite the irony; a puzzle purchased on a whim a couple of weeks ago has turned into my daily focus. I'm not a puzzle aficionado, or I wasn't until a few days ago. Now that puzzle seems to own me, or at the very least I am seriously drawn to it. I'd rather be consumed with other hobbies; instead at this juncture of April, a puzzle is my focus.

Puzzles aren't for more than passing time, yet they harbor greedy tendancies. They take up space, so allowances must be made for their inclusion. They demand fierce concentration, otherwise why sit there and mull over myriad shapes and hues for just the right piece, one single piece of a large-ish THING to go precisely in one small spot. But maybe that's all we are, solitary parts of one ENORMOUS whole and if even one of us goes missing, the planet veers off kilter.

Maybe that's one truth of this life, maybe.

In reading a book like Letters and Papers From Prison, invariable I consider: What if Dietrich, etc, hadn't been imprisoned? What if Dietrich and his fiancee Maria von Wedemeyer had gotten their chance at happiness? What if the Nazis had been foiled far sooner than they had; what if, what if, what if? Millions wouldn't have died, etc, etc, etc. Yet that wasn't what their lives were destined to be. For over two years Bonhoeffer dwelled in captivity, hoping in vain to be released. Von Dohnanyi spent that same amount of time in jail, while Klaus and Rudiger were detained in autumn of 1944. All four men were murdered in April of 1945, literally at the war's end there in Europe.

Those four lives were slivers of existences when stacked against the vast catalogue of human loss in World War II. Eighty years has past since the end of that conflict; those years have not passed with deliberate slowness, but the rapidity that seems to only grow as I get older. And yet moments emerge as if the earth has stopped spinning, as though nothing matters more than completing a puzzle. In my realm, for whatever reason, all that seems vital is a Lego puzzle.

Perhaps so I can absorb more essential truths, learned in Dietrich's letters. Maybe to better pray for my beloveds and the rest currently living on this marvelous but frustrating world. Possibly to shore up my inner mettle for future curiosities and marvels; I won't hazard a guess, at least not consciously. All I will do is offer these musings and recommend Letters and Papers From Prison if you need something new to read. Something that benefits from a deliberate slowness, puzzle piecing at your own discretion.

The Draft2Digital migration process begins

A pretty apt photo for today's subject.

Over three years ago Smashwords and Draft2Digital became one company. Last night I received notice that it was my turn for the migration queue, and for the rest of the night I was...slightly pensive, nostalgic, and resigned to change. Lol. Change is often not nearly as traumatic as we think it will be, current American governmental coup notwithstanding. I chose not to do more than ponder this somewhat monumental to me alteration, instead working on a one thousand piece puzzle (see above) that will keep me occupied until I feel the shingles are truly GONE.

'Nuff said about that. Yet for Smashwords, my goodness! I independently published The War on Emily Dickinson on July 16th, 2011, that's coming on fourteen years ago! SO MUCH has changed in indie publishing, although this is not an analysis entry, more of a walk down memory lane while assuaging my mind and heart that ALL WILL BE FINE.

It truly will, ahem.

Since then, I've released MANY books, excising a few, while remaining true to my belief of how damn cool is it that finally writers can become publishing authors without all the traditional publishing decrees and limitations! A big WOOT WOOT for that, and for that I am EXCEEDINGLY GRATEFUL to Mark Coker, founder of Smashwords, for running a company that put authors FIRST. Not agents or publishing houses or, lol, Amazon. It remains to be seen how thrilled I will be with his merging the company with D2D. I'll report as that process unfolds.

However, I won't be releasing any books imminently, so there will be plenty of time for me to get to grips with Draft2Digital. I am very appreciative of their books2read site, so if that's any indicator, all should be fine.

It truly will, ahem.

I guess this post is mostly to assure myself that indeed change is fine. Most change. A retrospective of my Smashwords experiences isn't necessary because those days are GONE, unlike my shingles, sigh. I have added my Smashwords Interview to the top of the blog because that element of one's profile page will no longer exist, although the Smashwords Store will continue, whew! The rest of what D2D offers will be time in coming; my next book is tentatively #3 for The Hawk, with #4 of The Enran Chronicles right after it, those slated for August and September respectively. That gives me all summer to play with a new interface. However, being it's nearly the end of April, I'll sneeze and suddenly it will be time to upload a new book, yikes! What will that be like???

For almost fourteen years I have comfortably used one distributor for my novels. That's pretty amazing, to be truthful. I don't go through Amazon, as they don't like freebies, so Smashwords has been my be-all, end-all. And now it's about to END. Lots to ponder for this author, mostly a heart filled with thankfulness that I've been able to release books for FREE without monetary cost to myself. That's AWESOME in this day and age.

Perhaps that's the takeaway; change is necessary, I preach often enough how life is NOT STATIC. While I've been happy in my distribution arena, something new doesn't mean something less worthy. I could be singing D2D's praises come August, and I surely hope that's the case! Meanwhile, there is a puzzle to piece, little sewing to be had until my shoulders are amenable, a birthday (lol) to consider, and laundry to throw in the washer. First I'll make a cup of Yorkshire tea, to honor where I wrote my initial novel Drop the Gauntlet and to celebrate the subsequent prose, all of it released independently. Thanks again Mark Coker, for making this writer's dream come true.