Linda Hoye's Blog, page 83
March 6, 2019
Wednesday, March 6, 2019 – Late Winter
It starts to feel like it has always been winter. Cabin fever sets in. I bring some tulips home and arrange them in a vase. A bit of spring on my table. In silent solitude I sit with my camera and find peace among the waxy petals. Later, when I take the Yorkie outside I
March 4, 2019
Monday, March 4, 2019 – Meanwhile, Hygge.
It’s cold this morning, but the sky is clear and it promises to be a sunny day. It looks like the temperature is finally going to start getting above freezing later this week—let the melt begin. It’s time to start thinking about gardening, but I’m not quite there yet. Flannel, blankets, reading socks, and the hum
March 3, 2019
Sunday, March 3, 2019 – Soft Around the Edges
I wake from a dream in which I’m in a computer room talking about tape restores and my mind goes back. Way back. And I’m thinking about VSAM clusters and JCL and VSE upgrades and, man, how I loved all of that stuff. Fast forward to migrations and PeopleCode and test plans, and the sheen
March 2, 2019
Saturday, March 2, 2019 – Chipping Away
It comes to me in the first waking moments of the morning: the first chapter is not the first chapter. The second chapter is the first chapter, and the first chapter is the fifth chapter. This, after spending an entire day on revisions of the book I’m working on, and not getting past the second
March 1, 2019
Friday, March 1, 2019 – Five Minute Friday – Search
I’m joining in with a group of writers for Five Minute Friday where we’re given a prompt (this week it’s SEARCH) and write for five minutes about it. Search. The word speaks me to my adoptee experience, and the fact that I’ve always searched. Once, I searched, in vain, the faces of people I encountered
It’s too loud. The cacophony has risen to such a level that I struggle to hear. There’s just too much. Of everything. Snow falls, unwelcome on this last day of February, but with it comes a whisper. And a beckoning. I step outside with the Yorkie and, as white feathers fall around me, a blanket of
How many evening meals have I’ve prepared over the course of my sixty years? Enough to make me weary of the daily dance of preparing a meal at a time of day when I’d like to be doing nothing. It starts in the morning when I decide what I’ll make, check ingredients on hand, and
The sunshine makes it easier to bear the cold weather. So too, does the fact that I don’t intend to leave my house today. I’m hunkering down with words, and a blanket of melancholy that came in with cold front. There are things that need attention, and others I need to let go of. I
February, the shortest of all the months, seems long again. It’s dragging. I looked forward to a bit of hibernation when we returned from Mexico at the start of it, and winter finally decided to show up. I’m done with it now. I see images on social media from the Northwest Flower and Garden show
I stay up later than normal to finish reading Water from a Deep Well by Gerald Sittser. As I reach over to put the book down on my bedside table, my mind churns. I’ve marked it with highlights, underlines, notes that will serve as guides when I look back through the pages—and look back, I will.
