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Category: Grand Adventure

Hello Spring

I did say I would return in March although my intention had always been for early March. Missed that internal deadline, didn't I?

It is no matter, somehow things always play out the best way they can. Or at least that is the view I choose to take on the matter. It is lent after all, and it always seems to me that lent ends up being a period of upheaval and resolution. Sometimes metaphysical, sometimes physical, sometimes, surely, all in my head.

Lent is, in many ways much like spring. Spare and bare still, but with pops of color, pops of hope. Uncertainty abounds: cold nights, warm days, rain, sunshine, sudden frosts, and yet resurrection surrounds us.

And yet it is all a part of the plan, the normal cycle of things. It shouldn't surprise us, and yet it always does.

I was in Texas and Arizona. Lovely visits, both with family.

I returned to a series of unfortunate glitches: some kind of mild allergic reaction thingy on my face, a rheumatoid fare, an encounter with gluten that lead to a celiac flare, more struggles with atrial flutter. All basically minor. All annoying nonetheless.

Like the garden, we muddle through, marshal our resources, cliché-filled, marching ever onward. The camellia is sending out a few precious blooms. It wasn't the January snow that did it in, but the single digit temps so close to its normal bloom time did set it back. What blooms appear are late, a little war-torn, but valiant harbingers of hope.

The vegetable garden continues. A few hot days, have prompted the bok choy to bolt, but the flowers are also delicious. Cabbage, broccoli, bitter Italian greens continue onward. I will never keep up with them all. Broccoli is heading.

I planted fava beans and they were coming up nicely, little green leaves peaking above the soil. The same for peas. And like that, they were gone. Someone ate them all last night. The great legume massacre of 2024. Perhaps there is time to sow another crop. Perhaps best to let it be. Another sign. But there will just be room for other vegetables.

The first of my "late" daffodils are up. Actually a little early. But its the only one so far, although there are lots of buds. There is always someone who leaps out from the crowd.

Anyway, welcome spring. It is a good spring, a good start. Always too much too do. As always it doesn't all get done. And who says it should anyway?

March 13, 2024
Vacation

At times, over the past 23 months it seems that all I wanted was to get away, to go someplace, any place. Why was it then, when a long-scheduled vacation finally loomed, I had decidedly mixed feelings?

Anyway, I went. I had a great time. It was not always smooth, but then, what in life is? I admit that as much of my trepidation about traveling, about traveling alone, was that in the past, the world of 24 months ago, I was finding that I did not really relish solo travel all that much. But perhaps I just needed to slough something off, something that I might not have sloughed off otherwise. Perhaps I needed to realize that I am only as alone as I chose to be, and that solo travel does not imply loneliness.

I can admit that my initial reaction to Key West was mixed. I arrived near dusk. I ventured out to the seaport and along Duval Street and I was struggling with crowds and noise. This was in sharp opposition to my reaction to airports and travel itself. Why was it that Duval Street made me pull inward, whereas I can drift through a crowded airport as if in a bubble?

Something I noticed before, before I stopped traveling, is that I find the travel itself quite calming. I am perhaps neurotically organized. I am always packed and ready at least a day before. I can feel at loose ends waiting. But at the same time this helps with my feelings of calmness. I've been stranded in airports due to cancelled planes and I tend to be calm and bemused. There is something about going to an airport, about planning travel, that allows me to just let go of the idea that I have any say in controlling events in the world, that allows me to make myself into an island of calm. Home may be my kingdom, and I want control. In the world, it is easier to slough all that off. This seems like phenomenal growth. Would that I could maintain it in my daily life.

When I arrive however, that bubble seems to burst; perhaps it is just the yearning that takes over, the idea of vacation, the idea of escape, of adventure, of fulfillment. That first evening in an unfamiliar place, I was nervous in crowds but also nervous on a street that felt too quiet in contrast. Of course this stems from years of training, compounded by now years of isolation and this crazy- making hyperbolic world we live in, a world that sometimes seems determined to feed on fear, on making us fear one another. That first night on Duval Street was like the meeting of two opposing seas, leaving me in emotional turmoil. I had left the safety of home, but hadn't yet found my vacation self. I felt like Dorothy landing in Oz. I think there is always that moment of transition, a moment when pent up expectation spills over; how we experience it may vary, but it too is part of the beauty of vacation.

I found a happy corner to settle down in. I had soup, and shrimp, and a vantage point for people watching. That airport calm descended once again. I walked back to my hotel in the cooler night air. I wasn't yet sure what I thought of this place; at first it seemed too casual, too loud, too "tourista". But that was mostly me, my own unsettledness. It takes me a little while to shift gears sometimes, even shifting into gears that have been getting more frequent use as I grow older.

The second morning I found a great breakfast and coffee spot, a place I stopped most mornings. I wandered around old town. I admired the neighborhoods, the bars, the stores, the music, the artists. I loved the fact that chickens, and especially roosters, wandered around everywhere. This seemed a metaphor for something, perhaps just the idea of not rushing. I watched a gecko while I drank a cup of strong Cuban coffee. I hadn't put words to that something at that point; I am not sure I have yet. But I too began to unwind, to enjoy this place, the ambiance, the casual vibe. I began to let go of my own expectations.

That did not come as easily as it sounds writing the words. It is so easy to write, "I let go". But nothing is really that simple, is it? I found my joys and my disappointments came in waves, but overall the good quickly outnumbered the bad, and mostly came when least expected, lost in a moment, often of mundanity.

I retreated during the heat of the day to my shady porch, or perhaps to the big window with the easy chair and my knitting. I am still not a creature of the hotter climes. I love the angled sunshine of winter light. I burn in the hotter sun, get sun poisoning and headaches, but that doesn't mean I don't love the easy going flow of tropical and sub-tropical climes. And yet here I was, happy and content, enjoying shade and warm breezes, the languor of the siesta.

I was went to Key West for an event, a literary festival, but I will write about that in another post. I attended. I missed some things. I walked a lot, more than I had in a long time, since before my cancer treatment, only 3 to 5 miles a day, but it was a start. I hope to keep walking now that I am home in cooler weather. I needed the boost, the interruption to my state of inertia.

What I found, and what I often forget, is that for me the best part of vacation is not seeing the sights, or doing the things that everyone tells me I must do, but in the wandering around, in talking to people. In just sitting back and being in a place. I went to the Hemingway museum. I did not go on the water. Yes I want to see and do but I also just want to unwind and be myself. What is surprising, although it should not be, is that being myself in a foreign environment is subtly different than being myself at home, and that, in and of itself is quite revealing. What is always surprising is that the highlights aren't the museum, or the adventure, but the little moments one was not expecting. The chance encounters, the birds at your feet, the crow of a rooster.

Vacation, all I ever wanted….

Well who knew? Sometimes we go place for the wrong reasons. Sometimes we go for the right reasons but with the wrong expectations. Sometimes it all falls in place. Sometimes it doesn't. But if we are lucky something we needed is revealed.

Key West. I will be back. And this from a woman who usually avoids vacations to hot places.

January 11, 2022
Monday Morning

Why is it that I post the least when I am also doing the least? Is lethargy a deep soul-sucking sinkhole? Do I simply have nothing to say?

Long ago, when George was still alive, he would occasionally see me quietly lost in thought and ask what was on my mind. Often I would reply "Oh, nothing." and his response was invariably, "I don't believe that for a second." He was correct, but I often wasn't ready to share, or it seemed irrelevant somehow. Is that where I am now? My mind has not particularly been at rest, but my body, and my energy, oh my, they have been mired deeply in the mud. Don't mind my ruminations then, rough as they are, at the moment they are all I have.

Admittedly, it hasn't been all bad. I went up to Hancock county to see a friend's new farm. There was fabulous food and fellowship, and an overnight as well, my first trip away from home since chemo started. I had to take a nap and retire early, explored less than others, communed less as well. But there was something about stirring, half awake, hearing the murmur of voices late in the night, that was soothing — such a change from over a year in an empty house, alone. It was good for my soul.

I posted this photo on Instagram. It seems I have been remiss, even there. Early morning fog on the river. This morning scene, and the entire visit in its own way, brought up bittersweet memories. The morning fog on the Hudson as the nights cooled. The many trips George and I would make on weekends, hiking and wandering in the Takanics, the Berkshires, the Green Mountains. These are all a part of the Appalachian chain, and there is some similarity in the sense of place to me. This is one of the things that made me feel more comfortable as I moved here from New York. For whatever reason, I always preferred these various segments of the Appalachian chain to the Adirondacks and Catskills, which are separate ranges. These places always felt like home, even though I certainly was not "from" that place. We would spend many a weekend wandering and exploring. George would talk of retiring to Vermont, either in a small town, or on a small farm, but only if it had a flat driveway. He was tired of plowing our steep hill. He wanted to be away from people. I would agree, but only if we could go to New York or Boston, or somewhere three or four weekends a year for live music. At that point I didn't know George would never voluntarily retire. Sitting on that front porch, looking at that fog, made me think not so much of Tennessee, where I was, but of the Berkshires and southern Vermont, of dreams and longings.

I don't actually know if I was yearning for something real or something imagined. This could have all been a whisper of discontent, rising out of my general dissatisfaction with life at the moment. Chemo is not fun. My first infusion of paclitaxel, or Taxol, was a bit of a shock, despite having being reassured that most people found it easier. It is possible that my worst days on Taxol are not as severe as my worst days on doxorubicin, but the truth is that, aside from the day after treatment there seemed to be no best days. I don't know if that is because of the Taxol or if it is because I experienced some complications and the second infusion was delayed a week, until tomorrow. Today I feel better than I have since June (the last time I missed an infusion due to health issues), but I am still tired and short of breath, and have a few remnants of peripheral neuropathy. Six more weeks.

The other news, which is sad news indeed, concerns this little guy.

Moises went outside last Tuesday, as is his way, and for whatever reason, either initial willfulness or a dreadful accident or encounter, he never returned. People keep telling me he might yet show up, and he might, but it seems past the point where one might hold one's breath. He is generally not one to wander far. I knew when he decided, at age 10, that he was going to become an outside cat, that this day might happen. That was four years ago, and I was probably more upset about the possibility at that time than I am now. I know he was pissed at me. I went away for an overnight. I took him to the vet. Moises would tell me he would rather go die in a noble battle or in the woods than go to the god-damned vet. Fourteen and a curmudgeon. Nonetheless I miss him. I still hopefully look out the doors, step-outside, call his name.

It has been a hard year. Strange that, only a year since I broke my nose, found out I had a heart issue. I lost Tikka last August. Poncho. Cancer. Moises. It feels like a lifetime. Life is not really about avoiding pain or loss; they are inevitable and we see that constantly in the cycle of the seasons around us. As much as we hope we can escape, it is impossible. It is not the avoidance of pain that makes us who we are, but the experience itself, the diving into it, the refining, much as raw gold is smelted and refined into something beautiful. That doesn't mean that the dive itself is fun, and that we don't sometimes cramp up and think we will never make it through. I will make it through. This is only a moment.

Who will I be when I reemerge?

August 9, 2021
Monday Miscellaney

Today has not gone as planned. But it is still Monday so let’s get on with it.

Finally, I finished the first of three dresses that I cut and started during my March sewing retreat. This dress was almost finished; it simply needed a little adjustment in the lining seams and hemming. The initial plan had been to finish it immediately, but the world shut down and there seemed no need for a new dress. I started sewing masks. When I finally put the dress up on the sewing table the hem looked so wonky I couldn’t believe it was right, even though I knew in my head it was. Yes, the point is that the dress look straight and balanced and even when it is on me. And so it does.

I wore the dress to my birthday brunch with my step-daughter’s family on Sunday. In fact, it was comfortable throughout the day, which was hot and humid, and I was very happy. This was meant to be an “everyday” kind of summer dress, one I could wear running around town in hot humid weather and it serves that purpose well. I did line it, although the Japanese quilting cotton is opaque enough, primarily because this allows the dress to hang more nicely and not cling, bag, or rumple excessively, problems with the original J Jill dress I copied. The silk habotai lining is light and cool even in humid weather.

After brunch we walked around Market Square and stopped for a chocolate fix at Coffee and Chocolate. I had one piece, this beautiful almond praline truffle. It is almost too beautiful to eat, but that did not stop me.

Over the weekend I also finished knitting the pieces to the summer sunset sweater. Actually, I finished reknitting. Initially the whole thing got tossed in my bag in a fit of pique when I realized I did not have enough yarn to finish. I refused to think about it at all for several weeks. When I pulled it back out I realized two things: First that I had lost my mind and knit the two front pieces about 2 inches too long; and second, that I failed to take into account the changes I had made to the pattern due to gauge issues. My altered pattern used about 15% more yarn. Not surprising then that I would not have enough.

The pieces are finished but the sweater is on hold until the yarn arrives. Since the yarn is hand-dyed Prism linen lace-weight, I do not expect to receive it right away.

I cannot begin to express how happy wearing my purple dress made me yesterday. To wear a cool, comfortable dress that in a color I love, that fit perfectly, and which I made myself brings its own kind of happiness. There is so much joy in that statement that I just want to dance. Alas the kind of stitching that I had in mind for today is not what came to pass.

Near the end of my walk this morning, I somehow managed to trip and fall. I actually thought I had an instant of foot drag and I stumbled over some unevenness in the pavement. Before I knew it i went down, knees, wrist, face. My nose took the brunt of it. Here I am after attempting to clean myself up but before going to the doctor. I wondered if I was over-reacting and did not need to go at all. Not so. I broke my nose and dislocated the septum. I will see an ENT on Wednesday. I got a series of stitches for the cuts on the top of my lip.

I look worse now. There will be other days for stitching. There is nothing quite like starting a new year of life with a bang, even if it is not the kind of bang I might have preferred. Hopefully things can only get better from here.

July 6, 2020
A Walk Through My Neighborhood

Dogwood Arts opened yesterday, at least the trails are open and people can drive through neighborhoods admiring the spring flowers and lovely gardens. My own garden, which is on the trail, remains mostly a vision of potentiality.

But it is time to begin, by walking out the front door and heading east. We see the Kousa dogwood which was planted two years ago. The pale blossoms look lovely framed by the pink of my neighbor’s trees. These photos were taken Tuesday, between the rains, when the sky was still leaden and gray. But gray skies seem to bring out the beauty of flowers, and I will share a few blossoms found along the way.

That same dogwood, up close as I walk by.

It is a good neighborhood for walking, and we are mostly thoughtful of each other and observing social distancing guidelines. But it was also good for me to see friendly faces, even from across the road, and exchange a few words.

Here we are, turning to go up the hill to the street that parallels mine. Several large flowering cherries are on this corner, and I need to stretch to try to take a photo. This in and of itself is a small challenge.

I have made it up the hill without stopping, without back pain and will continue forward rather than retracing my steps. The street that parallels mine is wider with more traffic, but also not as flat, with edges that slope more deeply into the neighboring yards.

But the hardest part of the walk was actually the final leg, a steep downhill stretch culminating in my own driveway. Having been inspired my neighborhood gardens, I continued the downhill track into my own backyard where to check out my own cherry tree, now in full blossom. Frankly, in this its first spring, I am thrilled for any blossoms at all and feel giddy like a proud tree-parent, even though this bounty is completely outside my hands.

And then around the corner, back up the east side of the house, admiring the bed of hellebores and bluebells, now fully open.

And home again, just before the rains return.

That walk, on Tuesday, was .8 mile. Something to remember, but hopefully improvement will continue and stupidity will be avoided, hopefully I will soon be back to daily walks and longer treks. Today it will be warmer, hopefully in the upper 50s if not low 60s by afternoon. Tuesday at noon it was 48 according to my trusty iWatch. Yesterday my walk consisted of mowing the lawn. That has proven to be a challenge, but one that is getting easier as the grass is no longer too long to mow easily. I can see the day when it is no longer a question of choice between pushing the reel mower or taking a walk, or weeding, or digging, as I see my back slowly getting stronger again, other muscles as well. But it is also a choice, and a choice that, at the moment, it is a privilege to make.

April 2, 2020
Five Things

Hopefully still on a Friday.

I am home. I am supposed to be out again but have been a flake and cancelled at the last minute. I don’t know if I had a allergic sinus infection or a cold/but all I want to do now is sleep. I’ve taken three naps today, and lost this post more than once, so I accept that this is where I find myself.

1.First, for pleasant surprises. I was sorting through photos this morning and through one of those marvelous serendipitous alignments, a photo I took of a hydrangea blossom in California showed up directly above the lettuce from last week’s farmer’s market (posted on instagram). Aren’t they both marvelous?

2.Next, I am marvelling at how life’s little upsets sometimes deliver new joys and suprises. My computer is nigh unto death. Granted, I grumbled about troubles with Safari months ago, and have suffered a series of fixes and subsequent failures. Then, one system failure became two, then three. Still, I managed to put off a decision. When application failure number four occurred I accepted that the impending demise of the Mac, but my budgetary priorities will not accommodate a new computer at this time. Enter the iPad, which formerly did not use enough. Perhaps that is changing.

I’ve been blogging on my ipad, which, with a keypad, is proving quite useable, aside from minor glitches like needing to save my work more often to avoid loss. The iPad has easily allowed me to easily play with collages and manipulating photos, like the picture above, of my cute new travel blow dryer. I went to the sewing retreat with a book I didn’t reead and wished I had a blow dryer as my hair was at an awkward stage of the growout process. Then I discovered this tiny dryer in a tiny case that also holds all my styling supplies and fits in my little 21” suitcase with plenty of room to spare. I took it to California and still had room for a knitting project, which I ended up not needing. I came home with 20 new balls of yarns for class projects (only 2 of which I purchased)

3. One of those projects is this wonderful Trailing Vine Pillow (seen in inset) by Dee Hardwick, from the new Seasonal Palette book. Although I haven’t resume work on the pillow yet, I love every project in that book and every color in that palette.

4. I also came home to grass, mulch, and plantings. The house looks great. Trees and some shrubs are not in yet. The summer was hot and dry and long, and neither the trees, nor the remaining plantings for the front street-front border, are available yet. I picked up 13 blueberry bushes down at Overhill Gardens in Vonore a few weeks ago, and am happy that they were planted, as were another 14 azaleas I purchased a few weeks ago for the back border. Below are the blueberries being loaded into my trunk for the trip home, probably a silly photo, but I thought it was marvelous that all thirteen shrubs fit and travelled home safely.

5.Last, but far from least, below is a picture of my grandson playing Bongo at his school’s “Grandparent’s Day” celebration. His class choir was singing “Jolene” and I believe the solo was an improvisation; he pulled it off quite well, and it was by far the best part of that particular performance.

It is still Friday. I can post this, and perhaps go turn the heel on a sock before calling it a night. Have a wonderful weekend.

October 25, 2019
Into the Deep

I have been in Redondo Beach, CA, at the first North American Rowan Knitting retreat and it has been absolutely fabulous, both in terms of meeting wonderfully creative women, but also in terms of the workshops and I am leaving filled with inspiration and ideas. I am also leaving with at least six more projects in my head, four of them on needles (to add to the three I already have going at home). A tad excessive yes, but also exactly what I needed to get myself over the hump from wanting to return to the creative life but treading too cautiously, admittedly secretly convinced that, despite any claims about being an artist, or hoping to be an artist, that I am a good craftsperson but without an artistic bone in my body. And there I was suddenly in the deep water, ready to become a dolphin, swimming and leaping and hoping to never wash back up on shore.

The process started Monday morning with Dee Hardwicke, who had transformed the L’Atelier store into a magical workroom filled with inspiration, and not a small amount of terror, at least for me. I learned we were going to draw, chart what we drew into something we could knit, and then proceed to begin knitting. I was nervous about the drawing part, convinced as I am that drawing is not part of my skill set.

First we started with hard pastels, and simply making lines on paper. Everyone’s paper was different. Mine was pretty, but there is nothing very artistic here….

Then we were supposed to draw something. Dee suggested a leaf and for those of us who were more timid drawers, that alone seemed ambitious, although there were others who were far more confident and ambitious. Surprisingly, I found I enjoyed making leaves. I enjoyed working with the pastels. Perhaps my struggle with drawing is more a matter of medium; perhaps I should try again, working with pastels, or even watercolors, rather than the hard lines of pencils. Just the act of drawing itself was a revelation. Somehow however, I managed to take a mirror-image photo. I don’t know how I did that, or how to undo it either.

Dee then proceeded to show us how to graph our images onto a knitters grid made to the tension of the yarn we were to be using.

And we were off….

Dee had many samples to inspire us as we chose colors…

We knit much of the afternoon. I truly enjoyed the process, loved being reminded of how much my younger self had adored color work and intarsia. I felt connected to some part of myself that had been put aside during the years when the kind of focused knitting that this kind of color work requires was impossible.

I ended up ripping out my knitting as soon as I returned to my room. Not because I didn’t enjoy it, but because my gauge was too loose, and it was becoming difficult to maintain tension. I used the suggested size needles, even though I know that I often need to size down. I was not at my best that first day, having walked into the Los Angeles air only to be suddenly pounded by massive congestion. I thought I had caught a cold from my grandson, but now I think it may be simply a sinus attack from something going on in the air in the LA area. I immediately cast on again, on smaller needles, making smaller progress between other workshops and social gatherings. Already I’ve learned from the process, have changed the pattern of my stitching slightly, hopefully to add more dimension and life, but I won’t really know if it worked until I am further along.

In retrospect, although October is not yet over, I can say that for all I dragged myself kicking and screaming through this month, October has become in one sense almost a creative boot-camp, jumpstarting passions for fabric, food, yarn and revealing depths, perhaps, that I would have been reluctant to explore on my own.

October 23, 2019
A Weekend of Adventure

Late evening. A city in South Carolina. Back roads. That is all I know.

It has been a great weekend, the weekend of a sewing retreat with really six fabulous women, five of whom are now new friends (one has been a friend a long time). It has been a weekend filled with sewing yes, but also a weekend of great food, fellowship, laughter.

I didn't complete any garments, but I did not expect I would. My goal was simply to get started, to make some muslins of garments that actually fit — not as in this is good enough because it is what I can buy, but as in actually fit. And I made a good start, with lots of help. You can't tell much about the dress above, and truthfully I love the pattern of the light on the table as much as whatever I was trying to photograph.

I finished two muslins, two garments that will become basics. That I did not produce three muslins was completely my own fault. I am not one to pretend like life is perfect, or that I never mess up, and mess up is exactly what I did. I had traced off a favorite pair of pants, but stressed, distracted, and completely unthinking, I grabbed non-stretch fabric in order to muslin those stretch pants. It was not an abject failure however. I have a pretty good idea of where I need to go from here, and what I need to do next. As I worked, memories were reignited and I am looking forward to the process.

Then it was time to go home. I didn't get far — about ten miles. But first you need the back story. You see, I had a blow-out on the way to the retreat. It happened in Columbia, in heavy traffic, when I was in the far left lane passing a truck, in an area on the curve that was not very safe. I controlled the car, there was an exit right there, and I am grateful to the drivers who let me across traffic so I could exit to safety. I drove the rest of the way on the donut on back roads, arriving in the dark.

I found a tire dealer who could replace my tires with something in the right size and of similar quality. I suspected the rim was damaged, discussed this, both on the phone, and with the person who looked at my car, and was told they would look at the car and let me know if that was the case — if they could replace the tire or if I needed something more. But somehow, somewhere along the line, someone forgot, and they mounted a new tire. Less than 20 miles later, that tire was shredded and I was going nowhere. Luckily for me, my friend Marjorie was still in Myrtle Beach. I called the auto service, they found someone to tow my car to the Audi dealer in Charleston, and Marjorie kindly took me down as it was on her way.

My car is being repaired and I should be on the road again tomorrow. In the meantime, I had a glass of cabernet when I checked into my hotel, a lovely dinner, and a good night's sleep. Despite all the agitation, I am incredibly fortunate to be here, to be able to enjoy this very European-feeling American city.

October 7, 2019
Flowers from My Mother’s Garden

I walked around my mother's neighborhood this morning, first out through the back yard in the early morning sunlight, then back. The sun was higher, the light different but not yet high. These photos are being shown in the order they were taken, as the sky brightens, as I leave and return.

Aside from the lushness of the flowers, the first thing I really noticed was the softness of the air, the relatively low humidity, at least as compared with Tennessee, the gentle caress of a steady soft breeze on my skin. It is unusual to go from Tennessee to Texas and find a kinder, gentler climate. And although this is not the fist time this has happened, I continue to be surprised when the world upsets my expectations.

As I walked, my senses began to experiences the differences between the neighborhood and the one I had walked a mere 24 hours earlier. Both of us live in neighborhood with manicured lawns, where homes have sprinkler systems, and yet nothing was the same. Of course the plants are different in Texas than in my Tennessee neighborhood, but there were other signs of difference as well. Garland Texas is not in the midst of a drought, and the air is rich with the smell of earth, of green leaves and continued growth. Autumn is not advancing as quickly here.

Even though I live in a neighborhood filled with sprinklers, we cannot water enough to counterbalance the continued heat and the lack of rain. Texas as well has suffered a heat wave, but the availability of water, and the plethora of more heat tolerant plants is evident. Walking in Knoxville I smell dry dusty earth, browning leaves, decay. Walking in Garland I smell flowers, freshly mowed grass that smells of new growth, wet earth. The scent of a freshly watered lawn still in the flush of growth is markedly different than a freshly watered lawn that is nonetheless struggling to survive.

I notice other things as well. The birdsong is different. I hear the sounds of the marching band coming from the nearby high school, although I would probably hear something similar if I lived near a high school in Tennessee. I am reminded that it is Friday, that there will be a pep rally, and I am carried back to my own high school days.

I think about the drive to Texas, the long ride into the extended Texas sunset, broad and wide and filling the sky with a different kind of light than I see in Tennessee, where one feels closer to the earth perhaps, and less dwarfed by the sky. I think about how I watched the motion of the grasses on the sides of the road in Arkansas, the movement of the air through the leaves, the changes in wave motion and velocity as different vehicles passed in close proximity. I wondered why I had never noticed this before. I wondered about how easy it is to pass through life without really paying attention.

Sometimes I struggle with travel, with the idea of travel on an intellectual level, not the desire for it. Sometimes I think of travel as going someplace exotic, and put visiting family in a different category, travel that is not really travel with a capital T. But that isn't really fair. All travel, all experiences outside the constraints of our normal boundaries can open our eyes, expand our horizons. I remain unconvinced that we really need to travel in order to learn to open our eyes, but perhaps we do, perhaps we need to be forced out of the boundaries of our normal habits. Perhaps it is the interruption that is as important as the location, the interruption that allows us to stop our internal monologue for just a moment, and see something a little differently.

September 27, 2019
In….And In Progress

Oh dear, oh dear, I feel like I should be channeling the White Rabbit, muttering some variation of "I'm late, I'm late" except that it is more like "I'm behind, I'm behind, I'm terribly behind"…….

I am back in the house and most everything in the house was completed before move-in but there were still enough unfinished things that the first 10 days involved the house being constantly being filled with workers from the various trades. There were days I could unpack and days where I was surrounded by rooms in various states of undress, with various half-unpacked and half-finished projects dominating the scene. It was more stressful than I could have imagined, and there were several moments where I was supremely grumpy or close to tears. But a quiet house over the weekend, and some lovely time spent with friends has also helped. I am here now and there are a few small oases of calm, one of them here, in my library/office/occasional guest room, although I am afraid the guests may get short-shrift being relegated to an aerobed with a feather-bed topper. Fine by me as I am more interested in owning a house I use daily than in space that sits empty but for a few days a year.

A couple of views from my desk this morning, out the window next to my desk (top) and into the library from my desk, which is at one end. Books are all on the shelves, although not necessarily sorted or arranged in any coherent order, but that can happen over time. My desk is actually a mess, I haven't yet managed to organize this corner, but that is not as upsetting as it might be simply because I am able to look out, past the clutter into this calming and inviting space. This is one of the few places that is safe today, a place where Tikka, Moisés and I are happily ensconced.

Although I may have to wander downstairs soon for another espresso. I haven't quite mastered the new espresso machine yet, but I have made many cups of very good coffee and even occasionally almost gotten the right proportion of rich dark coffee and crema. I knew it would be a work in progress with a bit of a learning curve. But pulling an espresso has proven to be one of those simple joys I look forward to daily.

Otherwise, not much to report. I've been to the farmer's market, bought my first, small, bag of food, roasted a chicken, started playing with new appliances, but am not yet really fully settled…the kitchen itself is not yet fully settled or installed so it is a bit of a process, but life is always an adventure. Here's to hoping that the studio is really finished by the end of this week (as promised, and no I am not holding my breath) and that my house and eventually a studio will be a refuge in the midst of the chaos that ensues when my parking lot is turned back into a yard.

More later….

July 1, 2019