we travel well

Refuge In Any Place

Ramble roam

I’m back!

This past week was upsetting. Someone I love very much is in hospice care. Supporting others and struggling to remember to bathe, eat, and get out of bed has been eating up most of my emotional reserves this week.

More rambles in the wet woods are called for. Just to get out of the house and move. And more writing, even if I spend more time sitting and staring at squiggles on the screen, trying to remember they’re words. Seeking refuge in any place it may be found, whether inside my head or out among moss-covered rocks with Miss B.

Over and out.

Good Neighbours

good neighbours

When our neighbours go on trips, one of my kids takes care of their cats. And generally, I drive them to the airport and pick them up when they come back. They keep telling me “when you travel, we’ll do the same for you”, but the thing is, I don’t travel. I hate flying, I don’t have the cash to go anywhere, and in any case, I’d rather be home writing. That may change when the kids are both well embarked on their adult lives, but for now, that’s the way it is.

So instead, this last time, said neighbours brought me duty-free booze. Which is very welcome, especially since hot toddies are probably the only way I’m getting through this cold. Alcohol kills germs, right?

So, yeah. They brought me a very nice bourbon. I could get very, very used to this.

Solidity

rocks

I hate travel, but I like to hear stories from people who’ve gone elsewhere.

Friends often ask if they can bring anything back from a trip for me. I generally say no. Once in a while, though, I’ll ask for a rock, even a piece of gravel, from their wanderings. Holding a piece of earth’s solidity, I can taste where a friend walked, and their happiness while they traveled. (Or their irritation.) Each one comes with a story, too.

These are from my writing partner’s last trip to the ocean. She and her darling husband (we call him the Boy Scout) visited my favorite place on earth and brought these back. I put them on my dresser, where I can see them every morning.

It’s good to have friends.

Still Kicking

guc4 I’m still alive, I swear! This is totally not a ghost playing with electronics to send a message from beyond the grave. Totally not.

Okay, so I might just be a little tired. Cormorant Run revisions are finished and sent off. I’m bracing myself for another round, and also for a bit of trouble getting my brain to SLOW DOWN DAMMIT YOU DON’T NEED TO GO THAT FAST ALL THE DAMN TIME. No, my brain never listens. I have to wear it out before I can get any sleep, just like a dog. A meth-crazed, needy dog who will scratch at the window and howl if you take your attention away for more than two minutes.

The good news is that the Princess returned from her multiple-week trip to Germany! The group had a layover in Iceland, and got to visit hot springs there. (Apparently the water looked like bluish milk and smelled like sulfur.) She credits that stop with staving off the usual Plane-Trip Crud, and arrived home tired but full of happy stories. A big shout-out to Frau L and her family, the Bs, for being such kind hosts, and another shout-out to our friend Frau AMB (you know who you are!) for being willing and able even in the midst of Big Life Changes.

There were church bells and statues and gardens and schlosses–schlossen? Is that the plural? (ETA: I am told it is “Schlosser, with an umlaut.” Thanks!) ANYWAY, lots of fun things, lots of pictures, and my God but I am so glad to have her home. This is by far the longest she’s been gone, and it about wore my nerves down to nubs. She was fine, I was a wreck. But now she’s home, home, home, and I can hug her and see her smiling face.

I can also do some filing and administrative work in my office, since revisions have eaten my head to the point that I have a towering stack of paperwork to figure out. I’m going to play the “shred, burn, or eat?” game with some of it, I can already tell. But that’s for the afternoon. Right now there’s the cavy cage to clean, prep work for dinner…and trying to get the meat inside my skull to stop chewing itself. Letting the flywheel slow down a bit so I don’t wear everything out. I often wonder what and who I would be without writing to keep the hamsters in my head occupied. I suspect there would be a lot of jittering and hair loss. Not to mention semi-tamed squirrels…

Over and out.

Who Lives Here?

A ramble with Miss B (whose leg is doing fine, though I am still chary of taking her running) always shows me something interesting. I’m not sure this tree will survive the hole at its base, but while it does, I think about what could live in such a space.

Stories are everywhere. You can’t escape them, ever.

Audible Cryptography

This is how a dead man fucks with you.

Written music is a code, and breaking it is easier with a teacher. Since mine headed off across the continent, I’ve been tooling along on my own. Audible cryptography isn’t something I ever thought I’d be interested in, but there it is. Despite the frustration, I like it. It gives my brain something else to chew on (other than itself) and the only problem is, now I’ve started trying to figure out music instead of just listening to it. So, it gives surcease with one hand, and takes it away with the other.

Like most things in life.

Anyway, Bach is getting tricky. The minuet itself is simple(ish), but working with my hands so close together and figuring out what precisely he means when he wants my right thumb there instead of over here was frustrating as fuck. At least I have the internet and can look up other performances, and crack the code that way. Not a bad way to spend an evening, all told.

I should again mention the crowdfunding campaign for The Marked, and the writing workshop for teens I’m doing this upcoming Sunday. Other than that, it’s time for me to retreat for a weekend, and steal whatever time I can on this zombie apocalypse story.

Over and out.