Trixie Archer's Blog, page 8

A Box of Possiblities

A box arrived by special delivery yesterday.  The driver rang our doorbell, left the package and sprinted back to his truck.  By the time I opened the door, he was waving as the vehicle pulled away.

I lugged the box through the doorway and into the front room where it currently waits.  I suppose you’re wondering what’s inside.  Well if only for a moment, imagine the possibilities.  Of course it’s too small to be a new car, a boat or a bicycle.  The box is too large to be a remote, wristwatch or pencil.  The weight is on the medium side, not exactly heavy and not exactly light.

I wonder if the cardboard itself is magic, that if I were to step within I’d find a porthole that leads to an exotic land.  It might be a bridge to another dimension but then again, maybe it's just a box.

The gift of the unknown reminds me of a book in a sense.  Unless I open the cover and read, the contents shall remain a mystery. 

With that said, there has only been mention surrounding “A Love for the Taking.”  Right now I’ve only presented the world an empty box.  The wrapping is a subtle floral dating back to 1849.  I hear a commotion from within…no, that’s not a clock ticking…clip-clop, clip-clop…the sound of horses.  Horses, how on earth are there horses tucked inside a box?

The truth is, there is much to do.  My editor (bless her heart) has returned the manuscript to me.  Red marks, red punctuation, red, red, red…the color of a writer’s stop sign…the color of my grammatical embarrassment.  There is no such thing as penning in a free fall or so I’m told.  If I want a positive result, I must work in a positive direction.

I was informed they didn’t have GPS back in 1849, who knew?  (Just kidding…that was a running joke because of some of the wording.)  I need to tweak the language so as to keep the integrity geared towards the past.  I do so enjoy a good challenge.

All in all, my editor gave the storyline an enthusiastic “thumbs up.”  In fact, she enjoyed the book even more than “Falling Whispers,” but then again, this was more of an adventure-romance and she is more of an adventure-romance kind of gal. 

Do you think if I open the magic box a sign would pop up to indicate a release date for the novel?  Such a prediction would be great!  I’m curious though how other writers manage to be so quick regarding self publication.  There certainly is a lot involved.

When my kids were younger and we would shop for birthday gifts for their friends I would explain, always offer something you would appreciate if you were on the receiving end.  I suppose I look at writing in the same way…as a gift that I would be happy to read.

It’s my hope that when “A Love for the Taking” is offered, the effort that went into presenting my absolute best is appreciated.  Until then, I will continue to move forward.  Each day is a simple edit closer to pressing the submit button on Amazon. 

Now, has anyone seen my scissors?  I’d sure like to know what’s inside the mystery box.  No snakes please, I can handle just about anything but snakes! 

Until next week,

~Trixie Archer       

  

One Meal at a Time

Today I'm blogging about something a bit more serious, the waste of food.  As a young girl I was expected to eat my dinner, except I never had much of an appetite.  I was the sort who had better things to do.  The great outdoors was always calling me.  So, I'd shove my food from this side of the plate to that...doing my absolute best to make it appear as if I'd eaten more than I actually had.  I must have asked my mom twenty times per meal, "did I eat enough, is it okay for me to go outside now?" 

My dad would set his newspaper to the side, eye my plate and point his finger while saying, "you know there are kids out there who are starving that would be grateful for that meal you have before you?" 

He of course was right.  My pops grew up during the great depression.  He often spoke of collecting a wagon load of tin for a nickel so as to help put food on the table.  His mom would send him to the deli to where he would buy the end caps or discarded bones for soup.  He spoke of onion sandwiches and even a time to where he came across an apple at the side of the road that someone had gnawed and because he was hungry, ate what was left.  I truly believe that unless a person has lived through such dire circumstances that it is impossible to comprehend what it means to not have enough. 

A year or so back, my daughter worked at a coffee house that was part of a huge grocery  chain.  Technically she was employed by the grocery store, but her position was that of a barista.  During the course of her job she learned the troubling realities of food disposal.  The truth is, usable groceries are thrown away on a day to day basis. 

Cartons of strawberries were sorted through and if one berry seemed a bit sketchy, the entire package was tossed.  One cracked egg and the entire dozen was pitched.  Instead of combining from other packages so as to have an entire carton of perfect, they were all thrown out.  There were many more examples of usable food dumped but keep in mind this was  one store of thousands across the country. 

In the coffee house, the frozen pastries that were thawed to sell each morning were only  kept for that day.  At closing, all were discarded.  Employees were not allowed to salvage those pastries...no.  Hungry college students who work there were required to dump what they could certainly benefit from.  Why? 

I read this morning that France has implemented laws to benefit the local food banks.  The idea is to redirect the grocery food that is suitable for consumption to others.  I feel this is something that we really need to change in the United States.  Apparently, those in power never had a father who lived through the great depression because my dad would have set everyone straight.  We are after all, in this world together. 

I imagine faces, tiny, helpless starving with sunken cheeks, tears falling, stomach growling...feeling great hopelessness and despair.  There is nothing in the refrigerator...emptiness in the pantry...meanwhile the garbage truck is lifting and carrying away hundreds upon thousands of pounds of food each year from the store down the block.  Where is the sense to this? 

Even if the food banks would become flooded with too much food to distribute, even if more people would be required to determine what was usable or not, why are stores and businesses not offering "day old" or produce that is ready to turn to their employees?  Wouldn't such a gesture be a great added benefit for working there?   

Instead we are throwing food away as waste...people are starving, people are struggling as the discarding of obvious resources continues to fill the dumpster. 

It's time we rethink, reuse and redistribute.  France has the right idea and maybe if positive change is nurtured the movement may grow in a way that eliminates hunger completely.  It's time we change our minds towards a better way to live, one meal at a time.

 

 

Serpentines Bite

While driving to pick my son up last Saturday, I took a wrong turn.  JD was staying at his friend’s house and because many streets in that neighborhood are under construction, I used an alternate route.  It was no surprise to end up in the land of the lost.  I managed two left turns and a right, and was uncertain if I was facing north, south, east or west.  I finally pulled to the side of the road and called my son.

“I’m running late,” I explained. 

I grabbed my GPS, clicked it on but soon realized the battery was dead.  “Great,” I mumbled under my breath.

Forward, all any of us can do is roll forward. 

It then occurred to me that I have GPS on my cell phone.  I called my son back for the exact address.  Okay, so I felt out of sorts for I’d been taking him there for eight years…always traveling the same roads, always following the same direction and then “boom,” I had no idea where I was.

After typing the address, to my surprise Mags the Nag taunted that I was merely down the block one street over from the desired location.  Literally thirty seconds later, I arrived in front of the house.  Toot, toot.

My son chuckled as he entered the car for he could read my embarrassment.  “Get lost much?”  He joked.

If that wasn’t bad enough, there was a distinct sound as if something was stuck in the wheel well of my car.  Ker-thunk, ker-thunk, ker-thunk…  As we pulled into the driveway back home and shifted the gear into park, the noise continued. 

“That can’t be good,” my son announced.

He was right.

When I opened the hood, I peered at the engine only to learn how the serpentine belt had become a whip that was snapping all over the place.  Mind you my car had been repaired earlier that week which included a brand new alternator.  All I could think of was going through that hassle all over again…being without my car for another two days and needing someone to drive me to and from the repair.  Let me introduce you to my old friend, Inconvenience.

As we entered the house, something occurred to me…if I can take apart the gear mechanisms in our push mower to fix, then why couldn’t I change the belt on the car myself? 

Youtube is a wonderful asset.  There are many “how to” videos that offer step by step instruction for such things.  To my great fortune, there was a four minute video on changing the serpentine belt on my model of car.  Four minutes…was it really possible to complete the task in that short amount of time?

Although it seemed like a good idea on paper, when it came time for the “doing,” I carried a bit of apprehension.  I thought of my ten year old self test driving my dad’s hydraulic lawn mower as the gears became stuck in reverse.  It was moving fast too…this way and that…I was screaming in a fright until I plowed straight into the central air conditioner knocking it off the cinder blocks.  My brother finally heard me and ran over to help.  He simply turned off the key.  Would such attempts at repairing my own car leave me stuck in reverse?

My point is, past experiences as well as an over-active imagination…well let’s just say I thought it might be wise to pay someone else to do it.  I called around for three quotes.  The prices varied anywhere from $90 to $170 dollars.  That ended up being the perfect motivation to fix it myself.   The top of the line serpentine belt from the local part store was $35.00…but the question remained, was I up for the challenge?

I purchased the belt, used the digital camera on my phone to click a few pictures so as to make sure I had everything looped as it should be.  I drew a couple of diagrams so that I was absolute on how to wind it all up, around and through.  I disconnected the negative on the battery, and used the square from the socket wrench to release the tension.  Eight minutes later, the belt was changed.  Eight minutes…thirty five dollars, a bit of grease on my hands and a smile on my face versus $90 to $170 and an empty wallet. 

A person sure can learn some wonderful things online.  A new recipe, home remedies, repairs, exercises, plumbing…there seems to be a “how to” on just about everything.  Now if only I could announce a specific date for my upcoming book, that would be something wonderful to learn online, yes?

I did speak to my editor on Wednesday and she is at the half way point.  Admittedly, there are some challenges ahead.  In the mean time, I’m taking a break from the project and immersing myself into art.  I’ve been messing with watercolor pencils.  Weird stuff too…a tribute to Dr. Suess’ artwork, among other things that spark creativity.

I’ve changed directions.  Hopefully, when the working copy of the manuscript is returned, my mind will be clear enough so that I can push through for a job well done.  All I can say is soon, very, very soon.   Thanks for checking in.

Until next time,

~Trixie Archer

Serious Moonlight

For the first time in 45 or more years…while vacationing at the cottage, it didn’t rain, storm or drizzle, not a single drop!  The weather was absolutely perfect; warm enough to swim, but not overly humid.  What an absolute miracle!

My daughter joined us for the week bringing along a few guests to spend a day or two with us.  Her buddy Staci offered many stories of her world travels and brought life to the party.  We enjoyed a campfire at the end of the day to where we exchanged ghost stories and scanned the heavens above for UFO’s.  With there being an open expanse of sky, we dared to imagine…green aliens, flying saucers as “beam me up Scotty” seemed possible.   When the stillness is ever so perfect and the story just eerie enough, there’s a chill that settles at the center of one’s back.  That hair standing on end is the perfect fright meter…and I believe we all registered a 10 plus! 

One of the many highlights occurred as I was swimming one afternoon.  I peered up into the sky and waved hello to a bald eagle soaring overhead.  I shouted to my family who were having snacks in the cottage but by the time they arrived, ol’ baldy was gone.  “Sure…” they said, citing the time that I had photographed a baby otter only to realize later that it was actually a muskrat.  My reputation has been tarnished with most doubting my claims.  Mind you I have photographs of the bald eagle from a couple of years ago, so that should gain me some credibility, right?  Apparently not.

I rented the kids a paddle board and they had a great time inland lake surfing.  “Mom, you give it a try…”  So I did, except I soon realized how kneeling is much easier than standing.  I suppose too much time has passed since my skateboarding days and such balance is obviously one of those things that if you snooze, you lose.

My son tried waterskiing this year.  He seemed to be a natural too.  During the first go of it he was up and moving forward at about quarter of the lake until the blasted nylon rope snapped in half.  In the brief time span between when he stood and the rope giving way, he carried a grin on his face and an expression that read, “I’m doing this!” I believe I cheered the loudest for him.  Too bad he experienced technical difficulties though.  By the time we attached another line, the moment had passed and he drank more lake water than anyone ever should.  We then called it a day until next time.

We invited my mom and sister up for a “thank you” meal.  My sister K is the official driver of mom and offering a gourmet “appreciation meal” has become our tradition.  We smoked ribs all afternoon and then finished the masterpiece on the grill.  Ribs remain a once a year treat for although the meat is full of flavor it is also loaded with unforgiving calories.

We took a day trip on Friday with my daughter’s friend and his 6 year old to an ice cream parlor called the Hayloft.  I ordered a small peach cobbler with a scoop of ice cream…the “junior” except there was nothing dinky about it.  Every bite was balanced between a sweet fruit and the perfect compliment of cream.  Dessert was served in abundance as if ice cream was our last meal.  It was literally a sweet lover’s delight.

The week zoomed by in a blink.  For some odd reason though, upon return I felt a sense of jet lag.  Maybe the fact that I was up at four everyday taking pictures had something to do with the exhaustion I carried.  I was in bed for the night at six p.m. and slept well into the following day. 

There was one night while on holiday that I’m pretty certain I didn’t sleep at all.  The moon was amazing and I set a course to chase the reflections over the lake.  Every hour or so, I would step outside to capture photographs of the radiance as it progressed from one side to the next.  There was something magical in the way the moonlight shimmered and danced around me.  It was strange too…unreal.  In fact, between the drowsiness I carried and the lightness to the air I wondered if it all was in fact a dream.  However, the following morning there were many pictures to prove otherwise.  It was just me, the lake, the moon and my camera…no bugs, no other people, no bother…peace and tranquility…a definite moment I will carry with me always.

Well, that about sums it up.  I was hoping to hear from my editor upon return that “A Love for the Taking” was ready for publication, but it seems as if it’ll be a bit longer.  What can I say?  She babysat Monkeyshine while we were out of town which was very kind.  I believe the dog enjoyed her time on the farm for she cried all the way home, the same way I do when I realize vacation is over. 

Until next time…

~Trixie

  

A Dash of Vacation

This week I’m on vacation.  Unless I’ve been foiled by snakes or chased by raging otters, you’ll find me at daybreak, camera in hand enjoying photography.  The chance to step away from my keyboard and study frogs, herons, and dragon flies is something that I’m truly looking forward to.  With the wait surrounding the editing of “A Love for the Taking,” this is the perfect opportunity to steal away.  My kids will join me for a day or so of picture taking and then I’m on my own…just me and my shadow.

What can I expect?  A cool mist rises off the lake.  Not many are up and about as the sun kisses the treetops overhead.  There’s a swimmer in the distance with a yellow buoy attached to her wrist.  With bathing cap on, she uses the crawl stroke as a slight ripple appears along the surface in her wake.  The birds chirp with enthusiasm and I imagine their “rise and shine” conversations. 

“Hank, how’d you sleep last night?”

“Oh not very good, so I’ll need to double up on my food supply today…because I’m dragging.  Did you hear that owl hooting all night?  What’s with that?”

“I don’t know, we’ve complained and complained and yet, she won’t simmer down.”

Speaking of birds, one year I captured a photograph of a bald eagle as it soared overhead; another year, lightening.  Both pictures were something I had on my bucket list.  Mind you the eagle wasn’t of the best quality for the bird caught me off guard.  In fact, I was heading back to the cottage, stomach growling, looking for some breakfast when something unusual caught my attention above.  From a distance the bird wasn’t anything spectacular but the soar was seemingly unique.  I wondered.  I used my zoom lens and clicked off two shots.  When I enlarged the dot on the screen I was thrilled!  In fact to anyone peering out their window at the exact moment would have seen me with a grin on my face and my feet shuffling in a happy dance. 

As far as the lightening is concerned, I’m old school.  It wasn’t until recent years that I picked up a professional dslr camera.  With film, there is no way to know if an image was captured successfully until the negatives are processed.  There are many blank images in my past.  Frustrations, “better luck next time” attempts, but you know I’ve always looked at them as a push off point to try that much harder the next time…to feast on the hope that “someday.”  The truth is; trying for something like that was quite costly which led me to be more conservative in my shooting.  In that regard, technology is wonderful.  I take chances I normally wouldn’t and can tweak exposure, composition and focus on site.

A few years ago, I observed a storm rolling in along the lake.  I used the cottage doorway to set up my tripod knowing better so as to keep my distance away from the water.  One particular cloud was filled with great activity.  Shutter depressed in a series, I nailed it not once but three times.  Again, happy dance!

The irony of this was the following week, as my daughter was sitting near her apartment window; she managed to capture lightening with her cell phone camera.  WITH her cell phone!  It took me years of trial and error my daughter swoops in and click, clicks then “has it.”  Not only that, she submitted the photo to her local weather channel and they showcased the image on television.  It was a beautiful shot and I must say I’m ever so proud of her.  Of course she needled me about how easy it is to photograph lightening and I appreciated her humor…but come on, with a cell phone?

By the end of the week of vacation, my mind is typically calmed and ready for the normal routine once again.  There are shopping excursions, sightseeing opportunities, swimming, boating, fishing, great food, laughter and connection.  Like in most families there probably will be some bumps in the road.  What is the saying?  “Guests and fish after three days…”

Of course there is the traditional picture of my son jumping off the end of the pier.  We’ve done this for many years running, even before I had a decent camera.  He’s been a good sport about re-takes and you’d think that after 18 tries he would exhaust himself, but no.  We’re always looking to out-do the last.  Twists, cannonballs, jumping jacks…you name it, he’s game.  I’ve got some great images too…with the evening sun offering shadows for mood and golden hues surrounding his youthful glee.  Someday I intend to showcase the pier shots of him from past to present day.  It is quite an interesting collection and I have just the place for those prints on my wall.

If truth be told, I always look forward to vacation but dread the packing.  No matter how great my list is, there’s bound to be something forgotten.  One year for example, I left behind my medication…but all in all the getting away part is worth every stress of traveling there.

Oh by the way, there are no phones at the cottage…no wi-fi…no cell towers.  Silence and still with a dash of tranquility is what it’s all about!  It’s time to find a few good books to curl up with and just relax.  I’m ready too…escape has a great peace to it…time to go!

Until next week…

~Trixie Archer

Spilled Coffee

Hi all…I spilled my coffee onto this week’s blog so while the stack of paper dries out, the post for this week will arrive on a computer or personal device on Saturday, August 1st instead.  Normally, like clockwork I have been posting on Thursday’s through rain, sleet or snow, but not on this occasion.  I do apologize for any inconvenience and do hope that you’ll stay tuned for what is planned.

Thank you,

~Trixie

A Novel Cake

I tossed many ingredients into a glass bowl, and set the mixer on high for two minutes.  Letters, punctuation, plot and emotion blended into a thick consistency.  My mother’s voice came to mind, “make sure to move the beaters properly throughout…and do you have your oven pre-heating?” 

I poured the concoction into a greased baking pan and positioned it on the center rack at 325 degrees for a slow bake.  After always after, I find myself peering into the oven wondering if I remembered everything so as to have the most outstanding flavor.  The words must be tweaked for tone and variety.  Will it be moist or dry?  I do worry.   Did I convey the exact picture that I had playing through my mind?  That is exactly how this final stage of writing was for me.  Words mixed with spices and sweetness, arriving to the moment of the final bake.  It’s in the oven, so now we can only guess for how long.

There were two copies printed, one for my editor and one for my daughter. 

My editor greeted me with a positive energy while carrying her infamous red pen.  She’s just waiting to draw lines, impose daring cross-outs and circle grammatical errors.  Ut-oh.  I’m glad she’s not ol’ Iron Pants my second grade teacher otherwise I’d be ducking and hiding from the improper use of the word “childrens.”  By the way, the tense was misused on purpose.  Should I have mentioned that before I handed her the final draft?    

I wonder if other self publishing authors take the editor’s correction as “the final say” or if they weigh their options as such? 

Over lunch this week my editor mentioned that my tendency to “(…)” needs to be toned down a bit.  I use the three dot line break because Word shouts obscenities at me with things underlined.  In such cases, normal punctuation will not work.  The three dots accomplish a break in the reading so as to emphasize a slower voice.  “Wait for it,” versus, “…wait…for…it!”  I think that dots offer a visual play for me, a way to make the words on paper become three dimensional.  To be honest, I’m often unaware that I’m “three dot sailing.”  However, when I end up with only six words per chapter with the remainder filled in with dots then I know its time for me to check in to the three dot rehab clinic.

Anyway, the second copy of “A Love for the Taking” was given to my daughter last weekend.   During the final stage of the last book, I emailed the story in fragments to her at college.  She offered an unbiased opinion chapter by chapter which was rather nice.  The scene where Carmen and Dora were riding on the scooter towards the resort and Carmen is confused about her attraction to Dora; well you can thank my daughter.  I listened to her suggestion and the re-write shimmered with chemistry.  Her observations have always been intuitive. 

For the most part with “Falling Whispers,” she was enthused.  She begged. “keep them coming ma, I’m really enjoying the story.”  It was then I knew I was onto something.  Will she feel the same way this time around?  Oh the stress.

My daughter’s an avid reader, she always has been.  It all started with countless trips to the library when she was really little.  At one point our local library was closed for a spell.  The town had built a new library and just after opening, the sprinkler system malfunctioned and the books were washed, but not in a good way.  We didn’t have the option of digital books or internet or anything of the sort so I began telling my daughter stories.  I even put some of those tales to paper with illustrations and all.  I believe the whole thing taught us both that adversity invites opportunity…so, as tradition dictates, she is the first reader of my published work.

I delivered the manuscript to her a few days ago and I’ve been teasing her relentlessly. “So, did you read it yet, did you?  What’d you think?”  Mind you she has two jobs and “vegging out” on books is simply impossible for her. 

She replied, “next week, after I finish the current book I’m on,” so next week it is.

All I can say is that I hope I didn’t forget the baking powder in chapter 3 or the salt to give the words a good texture.  Delicious or a flop, time will tell.

Now my final question of the day; “would you care for a cold glass of milk with your piece of the story or prefer some coffee instead?” 

Until next time~

Trixie Archer

Remember Soup

Hello~ 

Today we are swimming at the center of July.  It often seems that after the 4th, bing-bang-boom, “back to school” ads appear and we might as well toss the calendar into the garbage because we are all ready looking for the end of summer.  Why can’t we just “cool it” a bit?  Why can’t we simply say “stop, let’s go fishing instead?”

I realize a person can’t freeze time but the older I grow the more it seems as if we are living in a constant state of “I can’t wait until tomorrow.”  If we don’t make the best of today, why are we so set on tomorrow anyway?

Sometimes even, yesterday is a great place to visit.  This past week I’ve been thinking a lot about yesterday especially in the story that I’m editing surrounding the Oregon Trail and the main characters traveling to California during the gold rush.  Although it isn’t my past exactly, (I’m not older than the hills at 175 or better, thank you very much), it’s still a wonderful opportunity to better understand the human condition and the similarities in what we face regardless of how many years have passed.  The happy, sad, celebrations, love, illnesses….the feelings within are all the same regardless of time.  Sure the slang is different, the clothes, the style, but the inner workings of us as people, seems to remain as a constant.

Over the past week, I had a conversation with my sister-in-law K.  Unfortunately, K is not someone I get along very easily with.  I often find myself biting my tongue and trying to control an enormous frustration.  It isn’t that K is such a bad person; I think it has more to do with the fact that her code of life does not match mine.  I am extremely sentimental.  I hold people and feelings above all else.  I lean towards the positive and take many pictures along the way so as to always remember.  I enjoy music, which in many ways is a tool to help conjure the better days.  K does not.  She sees everything as clutter!  Organize, destroy, put on a stiff upper lip; move on…things must be mapped just so, “get out of my way.”

My mom turned 92 this week.  That in itself is amazing!  She still is healthy, wise and sharp…someone I definitely hope to emulate.  The thing is, K was over to my mom’s and took it upon herself to “organize” my mother's recipes.  My mom had this amazing collection that stemmed back to recipe’s collected in her mom’s handwriting and my grandma was born in the 1880’s, so…  Can you imagine?

That recipe book was rich in history.  It carried notes from when my brother was young and needed mom to awaken him at a certain time.  It held a card I made my mom when I was in the 5th grade, just because.  It was more than a book of recipes, it was a great treasure.  So when K bragged on the phone how she went through my mom’s recipe book to rid the clutter, I hit the roof!  It was our family time capsule and she set herself to destroy.

I (with steam coming out of my ears) asked her how she could possibly do such a thing?  How she could make that decision to dismantle something that was of such great value to our family heritage?  Her answer to me is that I would thank her someday when we (the seven of us) didn’t have to go through any of that after mom passes away.  You see my sister-in-law has been methodically cleaning out my mom’s house in preparation for her funeral ever since my dad passed away several years ago.  She has never stopped to think that maybe if and when that time arrives that our family will need to feel, that we will want to remember…that our past is ours to hold onto however we see fit.

I simply struggle to understand the logic of some people…and the boldness, the heartlessness, and motivation…  I would never in a million years overstep in such a way.  Years ago when I had an elderly mother-in-law I would have never taken it upon myself to do such a thing.  I respected her, her life past, her world in the present and all she had to live in the days ahead.  To me, it’s just common sense…and not overstepping boundaries.

A simple recipe book, no…it was much more than that, as is mine.  It is my hope that someday as my son and daughter are going through the cards they will happen upon the little note from our neighbors many years ago, offering me instructions on babysitting their son or the tiny picture of the rabbit that my daughter drew on the back of my peanut butter cookie recipe.  There are cards in there from co-workers for pizza dough, rum balls, and angel hair pasta.  The recipes go far beyond food, they are the heart of our past and it all lives on every time we open our talents to prepare something from before…and oh do the flavors of “remember” spark alive!   1900, 1966, 1928, 1988…the past is all ours for the cooking.

2 Much, 2 Little or 2 Late

I awoke to rain this morning; a gentle lulling of sound…a tap-tapping outside my window.  An instant thought arose, one of dread, but then I realized the great fortune of rain, so I turned off my alarm deciding to appreciate the wealth as it was falling from the sky. 

I must admit; it’s been raining in buckets this summer, more often than not.  We’ve had maybe one or two days each week of sunshine, but the remainder storm clouds in abundance.  My friend in Georgia mentioned that it’s been rather warm and dry in her region…and yet here, cool temperatures and torrents.

My point while speaking about the weather is not to impose a generic conversation, but instead to spotlight the fact that seldom are we happy with what we have.  Too much of something, too little of another…we become stranded in the world of “too.”

Why can’t we simply be happy? 

I’d love to toss an anchor from my chair and stop the motion of time with the simple act.  To take a breath, feel a feeling, smell a fragrance….and remember forever…a hug, a picture that my son or daughter worked hard to draw me when they were little, Monkeyshine running through the yard with enthusiasm to join me…all of it, just freeze!  Let me savor the richness of flavor; let me feel the warmth of the experience.  Maybe that’s why I enjoy photography so much.  It’s a way to toss an anchor onto a page, to hold onto that moment for as long as I choose to keep it.

I’ve been having a tough week.  Oh…don’t worry; I’m not speaking of the progress surrounding my latest book for that’s moving along rather proficiently.  What I’m talking about is the fact that a developer has bought up the property surrounding my mother’s home with the intention of building a grocery store on her street.  In fact, the store will end up being right next door to her.  If she lived in the city such a change would not be of concern; however, she doesn’t, she lives one block into the county.

The peaceful integrity of her street will become overrun with cars moving this way and that…and let’s not forget to mention the noise from delivery trucks, litter from bags and wrappers...oh my. 

The reason for this need has to do with the current location of the store being in a high crime area and their want to relocate to a safer nook.  So, will crime follow?  Will my mother be safe in her own back yard?

This store attempted to build there about twenty years ago and my father joined a neighborhood protest.  Their group attended town meetings, made phone calls and wrote letters.  The store dropped the issue at that point, especially when my dad notified the EPA for a study on how the spill off from the parking lot would contaminate their drinking water.  The EPA said “no” and that was that…the plans were shelved.

Until now.

What’s changed?  Most of those who stood up against the development have either passed away (like my father) or have moved on.  In addition, a “dummy” corporation swung in and bought up the land on behalf of the store…in a “fooled you” manner.  Everything played out with secrecy and intent so that any and all protest would be conducted after the fact.

I realize this is the way of the world but still…my mom is in her 90’s and does not need such aggravation. 

I suppose nothing ever stays the same.  The house that my father built, the yard that both of my parents worked hard to level, landscape and garden in…the basketball hoop that I practiced on...  All of it, some of it, combined, shared….well it isn’t just the house next door to a monstrous grocery store, it’s the sanctity of the past, the sanctity of my childhood.

I’m a sentimental fool right?  Yes, I am…proudly.

I’ve begun writing letters.  I’ve picked up the torch that my father left behind, on behalf of my mom, on behalf of my old neighborhood…on behalf of safe drinking water.  Why can’t we simply have a place, a home, a street, a neighborhood that we can travel to…that we can count on to remain untouched and inviting?

Oh yeah, that is exactly why I take pictures and why I’ve set myself to remember.  The place I seek isn’t out there, it’s isn’t controlled by a pen pusher in a development corporation, it’s in my heart, it’s in my mind, it’s in my soul.  Wrecking balls or bulldozers, construction companies or pavers…no one can ever prevent me from appreciating the rain of good fortune that falls in “the now.”  If only “the now” could be filtered to drink with intimidating guard dogs to keep my mother safe.    

So Close & Yet So Far

A lot has happened during the past week.  In the larger scheme of things, marriage equality throughout the United States is the law of the land and Obamacare has been spared for millions!  This is all good…all good indeed!~

Are you wondering about the progress surrounding my next book?  Well, I think I may have found an ideal name for the story.  There was a similar title back in 1983 but not exact to what I have in mind, so I believe it will all work out in my favor.

I have ideas…many of them floating around.  I’ve decided to post an extra bonus chapter on my blog soon after the release pertaining to the back story of one of the characters that Esther and Rachel meet up with along their journey to California.  Did I mention the characters names before this?  Well if not, I have now.  As I may have stated before, this next book is a bit different from the first.  Although romantic in nature, it has more of a traditional plot and the simple word that came to mind surrounding the chain of events is “irony.” 

I’m in the second draft stage of this process which sort of reminds me of an editing room for a movie.  Cut and splice…add a scene here, change a word or two there…if only I could include an original soundtrack…well, that’d be something.  I must say, I’m rather excited about the progress.  I truly hope that it will be well received and prove to be very successful.  In the end, if my work can bring enjoyment to one person, it will have been worth all of the sweat and tears. 

My editor returned from vacation this past week and I could have very easily printed what I had completed thus far to deliver something-anything before she left again, but I’m more concerned with quality rather than putting a story out there just to move on to the next adventure.

If I can complete everything to my liking, I’m hoping to mail the working copy to her within the next week or two.  The idea of using the good old post office has taken the pressure off and I can focus on the many details with a clear mind.  Unlike “Falling Whispers,” this book has over two hundred pages and counting…so there’s a bit more to it.

The cover is finished…which makes the end seem well in sight.

I’m tossing salt over my shoulder for good luck.

You must forgive me for not understanding the concept of just how long it takes to deliver a book from beginning to end.  I’m still rather new to self-publishing…I aimed for early June but now we are entering the gates of July.  Hopefully the wait will be worth it!~

Thanks for checking in…and for your patience.

~Trixie Archer