Just sit back and enjoy! The Christmas story, retold.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Tabletop Book Tree -- Happy Holidays!
After seeing a full size Holiday Book Tree on the internet, I decided I had to make a tabletop version of my own. Despite no experience in structural engineering, I managed the task. It’s not perfect, but, to quote Charlie Brown, “It’s not such a bad little tree…”
Bonus: It gives the little ornament mice that I costumed last year as Addie, Harold and Pippin from The Great American Mousical a place to lean, and it also allows my sweet little Very Fairy Princess-like ballet girlie to be a tree topper. (She has trouble standing alone, so had to be assisted with a book. We all need something to lean on at some points in our lives…) The lights are star-shaped — and stringing lights on a tree is far easier than stringing them on a pile of books, I can tell you right now. Books don’t have branches to hold the lights.
Here’s the finished tree (at J’s suggestion, I also took pictures of the entire process in case I want to do this again sometime.)
And then I took a picture without flash, so you could really see the star-shaped lights (only the lights turned out blurry. I assure you they're star-shaped!):
Bonus: It gives the little ornament mice that I costumed last year as Addie, Harold and Pippin from The Great American Mousical a place to lean, and it also allows my sweet little Very Fairy Princess-like ballet girlie to be a tree topper. (She has trouble standing alone, so had to be assisted with a book. We all need something to lean on at some points in our lives…) The lights are star-shaped — and stringing lights on a tree is far easier than stringing them on a pile of books, I can tell you right now. Books don’t have branches to hold the lights.
Here’s the finished tree (at J’s suggestion, I also took pictures of the entire process in case I want to do this again sometime.)
And then I took a picture without flash, so you could really see the star-shaped lights (only the lights turned out blurry. I assure you they're star-shaped!):
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Guests at the table...
I sometimes find it a bit lonely eating at Mum & Dad's table alone, although you'd think I'd be used to it by now -- it's three years since either of them sat at that table. (One year since their deaths, three years since they went into nursing homes.)
I tend to distract myself by reading while I'm eating, but that means I hardly notice my food -- definitely not mindful eating, nor conducive to good digestion, methinks.
A friend jokingly suggested a blow-up doll for the chair opposite me -- at least I hope it was a joking suggestion! I've found a better alternative, at least for the coming month.
I'm populating the other end of the table with friends and family -- through the birthday cards and Christmas cards that will be arriving through December. They're joined by a little vignette of a scene -- my Christmas music box (in the shape of a grand piano) and three little stuffed mice that I dressed last year to represent three of the mice in the book The Great American Mousical by Julie Andrews Edwards and Emma Walton Hamilton. Pippin, Harold and Addie (the diva). (Click to enlarge.)
I think they'll all make very nice guests at my table.
I tend to distract myself by reading while I'm eating, but that means I hardly notice my food -- definitely not mindful eating, nor conducive to good digestion, methinks.
A friend jokingly suggested a blow-up doll for the chair opposite me -- at least I hope it was a joking suggestion! I've found a better alternative, at least for the coming month.
I'm populating the other end of the table with friends and family -- through the birthday cards and Christmas cards that will be arriving through December. They're joined by a little vignette of a scene -- my Christmas music box (in the shape of a grand piano) and three little stuffed mice that I dressed last year to represent three of the mice in the book The Great American Mousical by Julie Andrews Edwards and Emma Walton Hamilton. Pippin, Harold and Addie (the diva). (Click to enlarge.)
I think they'll all make very nice guests at my table.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Progress progresses...
I have spent some quality time in the Storage Room this week, and have gone through one laundry basket which was heaped with papers, and have done some other sorting and tossing. Some have been filed, some have been archived, some have been shredded. That took quite a bit of time over several days, actually.
I still have a long way to go, but progress has been made (or as I put it in the title, progress has progressed). Here's the proof:
Look closely. I promise you that's better. Want a visible reminder of what that looked like before? Okay, you asked for it...
Obviously, there's still a lot to do, but at least I can see a glimmer of hope that this is do-able. (Note that I've also been busy with life and writing in general, this has not consumed all my time. I'm not allowing this project to consume all my time. It will get done when it gets done.)
I still have a long way to go, but progress has been made (or as I put it in the title, progress has progressed). Here's the proof:
Look closely. I promise you that's better. Want a visible reminder of what that looked like before? Okay, you asked for it...
Obviously, there's still a lot to do, but at least I can see a glimmer of hope that this is do-able. (Note that I've also been busy with life and writing in general, this has not consumed all my time. I'm not allowing this project to consume all my time. It will get done when it gets done.)
Monday, November 14, 2011
Remembering Mum...
On my other blog, I mentioned that some time during this month, I’d be paying tribute to a very special lady. I think some of my readers were expecting another post about Julie Andrews Edwards, and that would have been possible, but the special lady I want to highlight this month is my Mum, who died one year ago today, November 14, 2010. How can it possibly be a year since that day?
Some of my readers knew Mum, but many of you didn’t, so I’d like to spend a little while today just telling you a bit about the woman who so shaped my life.
My mother was born in Winnipeg, Manitoba, but when she was three the family moved to a farm near where her mother had grown up, and where her father had come when he left England as a young man. Her Dad, my Buppa (grandpa) was a real estate agent at that time, and had bought the farm in a “good deal.” The large house had been sitting vacant for some time, and when they got there, every window was broken. It took a great deal of hard work before the house became the beautiful and gracious home that Mum remembered with such affection.
The home Mum grew up in was always filled with music and poetry, and Mum created that sort of a home for me, as well. Buppa (Mum’s Dad) had been a boy soprano in London, and had sung songs ranging from “Cherry Ripe” to “The Holy City”, songs which Mum learned from him, and then taught to me. He sang in the local church choir after they moved to the farm (that town was renowned for its music), but then decided to stay home on choir practice nights to take care of the three children so that Nana (Mum’s Mum) could sing in the choir instead. All three children were musical, and although I’m not sure about Uncle Alvin, I know that Mum and Uncle Gordon both studied voice with a wonderful musician in town, who later became one of the foremost voice teachers in Winnipeg, and with whom I later studied. Dorothy, our teacher, would say to me, “Your uncle used to sing this, so you’re going to sing it, too.” And poetry — Nana loved to recite poetry, and won prizes for her recitations in local festivals. Mum absorbed the love of poetry from her, and passed it on to me. So often over the years, Mum and I would recite poetry together, and it was something that comforted and calmed her during her anxious times in her last years, even when I was simply reading to her over the phone.
Books were an integral part of Mum’s life as well. Mum was very intelligent, and always wanted to learn more, and more, and more. She loved school, and all my life I’ve been regaled with stories about her teachers — Miss Grace Eva Butler-Jones, Mr. Beckstead and others became almost the stuff of legend to me. Reading was always her favorite form of recreation, as well as of learning. Until the last month and a half of her life, when a broken bone in her shoulder made holding a book too difficult, she read for enjoyment and to continue to educate herself. Her doctor marveled at the number of books she read, and when she wanted to learn more about the human body and its workings, he looked through his personal library to see if there were any books he could bring her, then told me very specifically what sort of things to buy for her when all his books proved to be too heavy, either physically or mentally.
People have told me how Mum’s smile of greeting would make them feel so cherished, as if they were the only person that mattered just at that moment. She had grace — a deep-down quiet and calm caring, touched with humor, that made people feel buoyed up and nurtured by her warmth and her interest. She also had a spark of Irish temper, that kept her from being “too good for words.”
I could go on and on — but this is just intended as a glimpse, not a full biography!
For Mum’s 80th birthday I wrote a poem for her with the recurring line “for where you are, there’s music” as she taught me to love music, as well as the music in words. In it, I recall writing “Wind of the western sea will always sing you to me.” That was a reference, made with great love and warmth of remembrance, to one of the lullabies she sang to me so often, Tennyson’s “Sweet and Low.” I found a video on YouTube of a choir singing this. Imagine, if you can, a warm, rich mezzo-soprano voice singing, with her small daughter nestled in her arms…
Thanks, Mum.
Some of my readers knew Mum, but many of you didn’t, so I’d like to spend a little while today just telling you a bit about the woman who so shaped my life.
My mother was born in Winnipeg, Manitoba, but when she was three the family moved to a farm near where her mother had grown up, and where her father had come when he left England as a young man. Her Dad, my Buppa (grandpa) was a real estate agent at that time, and had bought the farm in a “good deal.” The large house had been sitting vacant for some time, and when they got there, every window was broken. It took a great deal of hard work before the house became the beautiful and gracious home that Mum remembered with such affection.
The home Mum grew up in was always filled with music and poetry, and Mum created that sort of a home for me, as well. Buppa (Mum’s Dad) had been a boy soprano in London, and had sung songs ranging from “Cherry Ripe” to “The Holy City”, songs which Mum learned from him, and then taught to me. He sang in the local church choir after they moved to the farm (that town was renowned for its music), but then decided to stay home on choir practice nights to take care of the three children so that Nana (Mum’s Mum) could sing in the choir instead. All three children were musical, and although I’m not sure about Uncle Alvin, I know that Mum and Uncle Gordon both studied voice with a wonderful musician in town, who later became one of the foremost voice teachers in Winnipeg, and with whom I later studied. Dorothy, our teacher, would say to me, “Your uncle used to sing this, so you’re going to sing it, too.” And poetry — Nana loved to recite poetry, and won prizes for her recitations in local festivals. Mum absorbed the love of poetry from her, and passed it on to me. So often over the years, Mum and I would recite poetry together, and it was something that comforted and calmed her during her anxious times in her last years, even when I was simply reading to her over the phone.
Books were an integral part of Mum’s life as well. Mum was very intelligent, and always wanted to learn more, and more, and more. She loved school, and all my life I’ve been regaled with stories about her teachers — Miss Grace Eva Butler-Jones, Mr. Beckstead and others became almost the stuff of legend to me. Reading was always her favorite form of recreation, as well as of learning. Until the last month and a half of her life, when a broken bone in her shoulder made holding a book too difficult, she read for enjoyment and to continue to educate herself. Her doctor marveled at the number of books she read, and when she wanted to learn more about the human body and its workings, he looked through his personal library to see if there were any books he could bring her, then told me very specifically what sort of things to buy for her when all his books proved to be too heavy, either physically or mentally.
People have told me how Mum’s smile of greeting would make them feel so cherished, as if they were the only person that mattered just at that moment. She had grace — a deep-down quiet and calm caring, touched with humor, that made people feel buoyed up and nurtured by her warmth and her interest. She also had a spark of Irish temper, that kept her from being “too good for words.”
I could go on and on — but this is just intended as a glimpse, not a full biography!
For Mum’s 80th birthday I wrote a poem for her with the recurring line “for where you are, there’s music” as she taught me to love music, as well as the music in words. In it, I recall writing “Wind of the western sea will always sing you to me.” That was a reference, made with great love and warmth of remembrance, to one of the lullabies she sang to me so often, Tennyson’s “Sweet and Low.” I found a video on YouTube of a choir singing this. Imagine, if you can, a warm, rich mezzo-soprano voice singing, with her small daughter nestled in her arms…
Thanks, Mum.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
It's a start...
I have been mucking out the south end of the storage room this weekend. Not constantly, but enough that the progress is noticeable.
I have started an OutBox, which includes (so far) more than 30 books either of mine or of Mum's that are going to be donated to a used book sale, 15 pristine like-new picture books that will go to the Children's Rehab Hospital, a few other bits and pieces, and the beginnings of a pile of trash bags. The trash bags are in the corner of the balcony that got accustomed to that usage during the Hybrid Cure. They will eventually go to my friend's dumpster.
I have begun sorting, filing, discarding papers, and have tidied the shelving units in the storage room. Or at least, I've begun to tidy the shelves. I haven't tackled the bags of photos on the bottom shelf yet. They will be a project for the "bleak midwinter."
I think that if you compare the "before" picture in the previous post you will be able to see progress. I certainly hope so, anyway!
I have started an OutBox, which includes (so far) more than 30 books either of mine or of Mum's that are going to be donated to a used book sale, 15 pristine like-new picture books that will go to the Children's Rehab Hospital, a few other bits and pieces, and the beginnings of a pile of trash bags. The trash bags are in the corner of the balcony that got accustomed to that usage during the Hybrid Cure. They will eventually go to my friend's dumpster.
I have begun sorting, filing, discarding papers, and have tidied the shelving units in the storage room. Or at least, I've begun to tidy the shelves. I haven't tackled the bags of photos on the bottom shelf yet. They will be a project for the "bleak midwinter."
I think that if you compare the "before" picture in the previous post you will be able to see progress. I certainly hope so, anyway!
Friday, November 11, 2011
Onward...
To read my Remembrance Day post, click here.
I promised a friend that I would get back to my Storage Room project TODAY. I started talking about the need to get on with this clearing/decluttering/organizing project in September. Things have only become worse since then, with one thing and another keeping me from doing anything but thinking about the work that needs to be done.
However, it is time and then some to actually DO something. So here we go, Lauri and everyone! Hold hands... this could be scary. We're going into the storage room.
However, it is time and then some to actually DO something. So here we go, Lauri and everyone! Hold hands... this could be scary. We're going into the storage room.
It's not quite as bad on the other end of the storage room. Maybe. At least the things that need to be moved are larger, so there won't be as much sorting.
I think I'll start on this end. Not just because I'm avoiding the hard part, although I have to admit that's part of it. Partly it's because the Christmas decorations are in there somewhere, and I will soon be wanting them.
Full disclosure -- the writing room closet is also reaching scary proportions. Some of the things in it are awaiting space in the storage room, while some of the things in the storage room are awaiting space in this closet. Complicated, isn't it?
As Mary Poppins famously says, "Well begun is half done. Spit spot!"
Onward.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Where the action is...
I don't seem to be blogging much, or doing much of anything else, do I?
That's because I've been concentrating on my writing -- I just finished the first draft of a middle grade novel, and now will start heavy-duty revisions on a picture book manuscript that has returned from a manuscript evaluation by a freelance editor.
And, because I've been concentrating on my writing, most of my blogging has been over on my writing blog. You are cordially invited to visit over there --
I'm elizabethannewrites on wordpress.
That's because I've been concentrating on my writing -- I just finished the first draft of a middle grade novel, and now will start heavy-duty revisions on a picture book manuscript that has returned from a manuscript evaluation by a freelance editor.
And, because I've been concentrating on my writing, most of my blogging has been over on my writing blog. You are cordially invited to visit over there --
I'm elizabethannewrites on wordpress.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Here a pound, there a pound...
I went to the doctor a couple of days ago. He measured me (5 feet, 1 inch) and weighed me (his brand new, just-bought-that-day scale weighs six pounds heavier than my home scale does), calculated my Body Mass Index as 31 (not a good number) and decided that I need to lose
I should be able to do that. I've done it before. And therein lies the rub. For a human, I make a very good yoyo. This time, I need to take off the weight and keep it off.
I have an incentive picture on my fridge. I have a weight loss buddy keeping me accountable. (She just talked me out of eating cheesesticks for lunch. Thank you, J!)
Not surprisingly, the doctor emphasized that I need to exercise as well as controlling my eating habits. In England and LA, walking seemed easier. I was walking for a purpose and so didn't notice the distances. Here, when I just go out for a walk, I start thinking about how I'm feeling, and discourage myself. (My original wish, to spend 4 months in LA this winter, would have helped with that. Since I can't do that, I will have to make exercise work here.)
Here's a relatively recent picture. I'm the taller one ("tall" being a relative thing. Keep in mind that my version of "tall" means 5'1".) I could also have said, I'm the lumpier one.
I will keep you posted.
Wish me luck!
TWENTY POUNDS.
I have an incentive picture on my fridge. I have a weight loss buddy keeping me accountable. (She just talked me out of eating cheesesticks for lunch. Thank you, J!)
Not surprisingly, the doctor emphasized that I need to exercise as well as controlling my eating habits. In England and LA, walking seemed easier. I was walking for a purpose and so didn't notice the distances. Here, when I just go out for a walk, I start thinking about how I'm feeling, and discourage myself. (My original wish, to spend 4 months in LA this winter, would have helped with that. Since I can't do that, I will have to make exercise work here.)
Here's a relatively recent picture. I'm the taller one ("tall" being a relative thing. Keep in mind that my version of "tall" means 5'1".) I could also have said, I'm the lumpier one.
I will keep you posted.
Wish me luck!
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Time for multiple makeovers...
The time has come, the walrus said...
To makeover my health, my complexion, my apartment, you name it.
Two months ago, my doctor gave me until after Christmas to bring my cholesterol down through dietary changes and weight loss. For four or five weeks, I managed to cut all cheese, bacon, egg yolks and french fries out of my diet. (If you knew how I rely on cheese as a protein source, you'd realize what an incredible accomplishment this is!) Then I had to spend nearly a month out of my apartment, eating out and finding it very difficult to deal with my allergies, dietary restrictions, and cheese-lessness while doing so. I backslid. (Still no fries or bacon, but the eggs and cheese thing went by the boards.)
I am home now, with renewed resolve. After watching my mother react adversely to every cholesterol medication out there, I want to avoid medication if at all possible.
The health makeover goal, therefore, is to lower my cholesterol, lose weight (ideally about 12 or 15 pounds in the next three months), and increase my activity level. While I was in England and LA I did a lot of walking. I proved to myself I can do that. I need to resume that level of activity.
The "beauty" makeover is to work on my skin, to get it clearer and more healthy-looking. I have had teenage skin for the past forty-plus years, and I am getting fed up with that.
The apartment makeover should contribute nicely to the activity level goal. I did a fair bit while following Alana's Hybrid Cure some months ago. I left the work in the storage room for the winter when it would be cool enough in said room to actually do things in there. The time has come (the Walrus said). Since then, things have become less tidy in the rest of the apartment as well. The goal is Mrs. Beeton's timeless "a place for everything, and everything in its place." (That phrase is also attributed to Samuel Smiles and Benjamin Franklin. Let's go with Samuel Smiles, shall we? He was an ancestor of mine, or married an ancestor of mine, or something.)
I announced a Closet Cure quite some time ago, then was not able to follow through at the time. That will begin now.
I am going to Los Angeles in early February. (Just for a vacation.) My goal, therefore, is to have these things accomplished before I leave.
Let the makeovers begin!
To makeover my health, my complexion, my apartment, you name it.
Two months ago, my doctor gave me until after Christmas to bring my cholesterol down through dietary changes and weight loss. For four or five weeks, I managed to cut all cheese, bacon, egg yolks and french fries out of my diet. (If you knew how I rely on cheese as a protein source, you'd realize what an incredible accomplishment this is!) Then I had to spend nearly a month out of my apartment, eating out and finding it very difficult to deal with my allergies, dietary restrictions, and cheese-lessness while doing so. I backslid. (Still no fries or bacon, but the eggs and cheese thing went by the boards.)
I am home now, with renewed resolve. After watching my mother react adversely to every cholesterol medication out there, I want to avoid medication if at all possible.
The health makeover goal, therefore, is to lower my cholesterol, lose weight (ideally about 12 or 15 pounds in the next three months), and increase my activity level. While I was in England and LA I did a lot of walking. I proved to myself I can do that. I need to resume that level of activity.
The "beauty" makeover is to work on my skin, to get it clearer and more healthy-looking. I have had teenage skin for the past forty-plus years, and I am getting fed up with that.
The apartment makeover should contribute nicely to the activity level goal. I did a fair bit while following Alana's Hybrid Cure some months ago. I left the work in the storage room for the winter when it would be cool enough in said room to actually do things in there. The time has come (the Walrus said). Since then, things have become less tidy in the rest of the apartment as well. The goal is Mrs. Beeton's timeless "a place for everything, and everything in its place." (That phrase is also attributed to Samuel Smiles and Benjamin Franklin. Let's go with Samuel Smiles, shall we? He was an ancestor of mine, or married an ancestor of mine, or something.)
I announced a Closet Cure quite some time ago, then was not able to follow through at the time. That will begin now.
I am going to Los Angeles in early February. (Just for a vacation.) My goal, therefore, is to have these things accomplished before I leave.
Let the makeovers begin!
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Among my souvenirs...
What do you like to bring home from a trip to remind you of the good times you had?
When I was a child, my souvenir-collecting was rather eclectic, to say the least. I remember that before our first long car-trip vacation, to Yellowstone National Park, my grandfather asked me to bring back a bear for him, so my souvenir shopping was concentrated on finding a small bear — I think I still have that small grizzly-bear figurine bought by my eight-year-old self. (After Grandpa died, I “repatriated” it, so to speak.)
Other souvenirs have included the typical t-shirts, pens, etc. A pair of Betsy Ross socks purchased in Minot, North Dakota, marked the Bicentennial of the United States in 1976 when we took my English friend Sheila there.
Now, my taste in souvenirs has changed. A beautiful top (one that could be called a t-shirt, but is much nicer than the typical t-shirt) was my major souvenir of Walton-on-Thames, and I think of beautiful Walton every time I wear it. A one-of-a-kind porcelain vase is my souvenir of Brentwood in Los Angeles, and it not only reminds me of my time strolling along San Vicente Boulevard, but also of the two women in the shop where I bought it, who were very interested in learning about my writing, and who wrapped my vase so well it could have traveled from there to the Yukon without damage (and after wrapping the lovely thing so carefully, the one woman asked as she handed it to me, “You’re doing carry-on with this, right?” I assured her that I would.)
My main souvenirs this summer, though, have been books (!) and re-usable shopping bags.
In England, I purchased several children’s books and a couple of books about the history of Walton-on-Thames. I also brought home a Tesco bag, bright blue with delightful ladybugs depicted across it, plasticized so that it has been the perfect bag for my weekly jaunts to the farmers’ market since my return. At Waterstone’s Books in Walton’s shopping centre known as “The Heart“, I bought a small bag with delightful picture-book illustrations on either side, the purchase of which benefits The Book Bus, a mobile library in Zambia. It is perfect for trips to the bookstore here. (And once, when I took it to the Main Library children’s department, the staff person behind the desk recognized the illustrations on it!) At another shop in The Heart, I found a pretty bag that reminds people that “bags don’t grow on trees!” It will be my clothes-shopping bag.
In Los Angeles, since I was at a Writers’ Conference, it is no surprise that I brought back many, many, MANY books, as well as a bright red SCBWI book bag emblazoned with the words “Reading is Power”, and another that was a gift to each person at the closing luncheon, celebrating the 40th anniversary of SCBWI. Both of those bags regularly visit the library/libraries with me. At Brentwood Whole Foods, I bought a shopping bag that says Los Angeles on one side (in small letters) and California on the other. It carries my groceries.
My short visit to St. Paul was no different. I came back with books (no surprise there…) Micawber’s Books led me to The Rehearsal by Eleanor Catton, On Rereading by Patricia Meyer Spacks, The Reading Promise: My Father and the Books We Shared by Alice Ozma, and a picture book entitled Scrawny Cat by Phyllis Root. I restrained myself on kids’ books, anticipating a trip to The Red Balloon. Since that didn’t pan out, I had fewer books to declare when I came back across the border than I’d anticipated. (Next time…) I *did* buy Richard Peck’s Secrets at Sea at the airport branch of The Red Balloon. And I came home with two more re-usable shopping bags. One is a grocery shopping bag from the upscale supermarket Byerly’s, where I satisfied my longing for Old Home Yogurt among other things, and the other is a book-shopping bag from The Red Balloon at the airport.
Useful things that bring back wonderful memories. Are there any better souvenirs than such?
What do you bring home with you?
When I was a child, my souvenir-collecting was rather eclectic, to say the least. I remember that before our first long car-trip vacation, to Yellowstone National Park, my grandfather asked me to bring back a bear for him, so my souvenir shopping was concentrated on finding a small bear — I think I still have that small grizzly-bear figurine bought by my eight-year-old self. (After Grandpa died, I “repatriated” it, so to speak.)
Other souvenirs have included the typical t-shirts, pens, etc. A pair of Betsy Ross socks purchased in Minot, North Dakota, marked the Bicentennial of the United States in 1976 when we took my English friend Sheila there.
Now, my taste in souvenirs has changed. A beautiful top (one that could be called a t-shirt, but is much nicer than the typical t-shirt) was my major souvenir of Walton-on-Thames, and I think of beautiful Walton every time I wear it. A one-of-a-kind porcelain vase is my souvenir of Brentwood in Los Angeles, and it not only reminds me of my time strolling along San Vicente Boulevard, but also of the two women in the shop where I bought it, who were very interested in learning about my writing, and who wrapped my vase so well it could have traveled from there to the Yukon without damage (and after wrapping the lovely thing so carefully, the one woman asked as she handed it to me, “You’re doing carry-on with this, right?” I assured her that I would.)
My main souvenirs this summer, though, have been books (!) and re-usable shopping bags.
In England, I purchased several children’s books and a couple of books about the history of Walton-on-Thames. I also brought home a Tesco bag, bright blue with delightful ladybugs depicted across it, plasticized so that it has been the perfect bag for my weekly jaunts to the farmers’ market since my return. At Waterstone’s Books in Walton’s shopping centre known as “The Heart“, I bought a small bag with delightful picture-book illustrations on either side, the purchase of which benefits The Book Bus, a mobile library in Zambia. It is perfect for trips to the bookstore here. (And once, when I took it to the Main Library children’s department, the staff person behind the desk recognized the illustrations on it!) At another shop in The Heart, I found a pretty bag that reminds people that “bags don’t grow on trees!” It will be my clothes-shopping bag.
In Los Angeles, since I was at a Writers’ Conference, it is no surprise that I brought back many, many, MANY books, as well as a bright red SCBWI book bag emblazoned with the words “Reading is Power”, and another that was a gift to each person at the closing luncheon, celebrating the 40th anniversary of SCBWI. Both of those bags regularly visit the library/libraries with me. At Brentwood Whole Foods, I bought a shopping bag that says Los Angeles on one side (in small letters) and California on the other. It carries my groceries.
My short visit to St. Paul was no different. I came back with books (no surprise there…) Micawber’s Books led me to The Rehearsal by Eleanor Catton, On Rereading by Patricia Meyer Spacks, The Reading Promise: My Father and the Books We Shared by Alice Ozma, and a picture book entitled Scrawny Cat by Phyllis Root. I restrained myself on kids’ books, anticipating a trip to The Red Balloon. Since that didn’t pan out, I had fewer books to declare when I came back across the border than I’d anticipated. (Next time…) I *did* buy Richard Peck’s Secrets at Sea at the airport branch of The Red Balloon. And I came home with two more re-usable shopping bags. One is a grocery shopping bag from the upscale supermarket Byerly’s, where I satisfied my longing for Old Home Yogurt among other things, and the other is a book-shopping bag from The Red Balloon at the airport.
Useful things that bring back wonderful memories. Are there any better souvenirs than such?
What do you bring home with you?
Monday, October 17, 2011
Ah yes, I remember it well...
J and I drove out to my old home today. It was a beautiful day for driving — clear blue bowl of sky above us, still a few golden leaves on the trees, “crisp” temperature when we were outside, but not too cold.
We went to the cemetery where my parents are buried — it was the first time I’d been able to go out there to visit their graves since the interment service on July 9, so I shed a few tears as I stood by their grave. The headstone is not yet in place, there is only a temporary marker, so it’s not easy to see the grave unless one is right up beside it, but it’s there:
The next picture was supposed to show the flock of hundreds of bird (possibly swans?) that were circling overhead, but I needed a different camera. As J said, “Your Dad needs to have his camera here.” If I’d had his camera with the large telephoto lens which he used for his wildlife photography, I could have taken a photo he’d have been proud of. As it is, the photo shows how beautifully cared for the cemetery is (out in the middle of farm fields, several miles from any town, but less than half a mile from the farm where I grew up.)
We then drove the short distance to our farm and drove in the yard where we were greeted by a black dog wagging his big plume of a tail happily. There was another small dog yipping inside the house, but there were no humans in sight. The house has been remodeled, the color has been changed (it’s pale grey instead of the white it always was when I was growing up), and so many trees have been planted around it, that if I’d been shown a photo that just showed the house and the front yard, I don’t think I would have recognized it as my old home. That was rather a shock, actually. The two garages that Dad built were still there (although the tractor shed is leaning precariously), and my old basketball hoop is still on the door of the tractor shed!
We drove into town, and around a bit, saw where I went to school — the buildings downtown are also practically unrecognizable, but the school is fairly much the way it was when I went there in the 1960s and early 1970s.
The way things had changed reminded me of a delightful song from the movie “Gigi” (hence the title of this post). Please click this link to hear Maurice Chevalier claim, “Ah yes! I remember it well…”
Back in the city, we headed straight to the Tea Room where we’d had an English cream tea just after J arrived, and had another English meal to bracket the trip nicely.
J leaves tomorrow. I’m not looking forward to saying goodbye, even though I know I’ll be seeing her in just a few days when I fly down for the Singalong Sound of Music. She’s like a sister to me, and it’s so good to spend time with her. I thank all the powers that are out there for the Internet which introduced these two “sisters.”
We went to the cemetery where my parents are buried — it was the first time I’d been able to go out there to visit their graves since the interment service on July 9, so I shed a few tears as I stood by their grave. The headstone is not yet in place, there is only a temporary marker, so it’s not easy to see the grave unless one is right up beside it, but it’s there:
The next picture was supposed to show the flock of hundreds of bird (possibly swans?) that were circling overhead, but I needed a different camera. As J said, “Your Dad needs to have his camera here.” If I’d had his camera with the large telephoto lens which he used for his wildlife photography, I could have taken a photo he’d have been proud of. As it is, the photo shows how beautifully cared for the cemetery is (out in the middle of farm fields, several miles from any town, but less than half a mile from the farm where I grew up.)
We then drove the short distance to our farm and drove in the yard where we were greeted by a black dog wagging his big plume of a tail happily. There was another small dog yipping inside the house, but there were no humans in sight. The house has been remodeled, the color has been changed (it’s pale grey instead of the white it always was when I was growing up), and so many trees have been planted around it, that if I’d been shown a photo that just showed the house and the front yard, I don’t think I would have recognized it as my old home. That was rather a shock, actually. The two garages that Dad built were still there (although the tractor shed is leaning precariously), and my old basketball hoop is still on the door of the tractor shed!
We drove into town, and around a bit, saw where I went to school — the buildings downtown are also practically unrecognizable, but the school is fairly much the way it was when I went there in the 1960s and early 1970s.
The way things had changed reminded me of a delightful song from the movie “Gigi” (hence the title of this post). Please click this link to hear Maurice Chevalier claim, “Ah yes! I remember it well…”
Back in the city, we headed straight to the Tea Room where we’d had an English cream tea just after J arrived, and had another English meal to bracket the trip nicely.
J leaves tomorrow. I’m not looking forward to saying goodbye, even though I know I’ll be seeing her in just a few days when I fly down for the Singalong Sound of Music. She’s like a sister to me, and it’s so good to spend time with her. I thank all the powers that are out there for the Internet which introduced these two “sisters.”
Sunday, October 16, 2011
"Vacationing" in Small City
As most of you know, from time to time, when painting or carpeting or whatever is being done in an apartment near mine, I have to go elsewhere for a while because of my allergies. I'm in one of those times at the moment, a rather drawn out time due to the unpredictability of when each phase of the work could be done.
A long time spent in a hotel in one's home city could get rather tedious... or not. When I realized that there were two lovely big beds in my hotel room (and, as it turns out, I had to switch hotels, and now have a two-room suite!) I contacted my friend J in Minnesota, with whom I traveled to England in the summer, and she's come up to spend a week with me. We are having a wonderful time together, and it's made the staid staycation into a delightful vacation.
We haven't been indulging in too much wild or riotous living, I promise! Due to J's MS, she is limited in the amount she can do in a day, and due to my rather low energy-level, that works well for me. We have been having a good time anyway.
Her plane was late getting in last Wednesday, due to very foggy conditions here, and she was in definite need of food when she finally arrived after 2 p.m. -- so we went straight to a delightful little restaurant that serves British food, and in particular, serves a wonderful cream tea. While she had a cranberry-cream cheese and cucumber sandwich and a pot of PG Tips tea, I enjoyed scones with clotted cream. Mmmmm...
We've done a bit of shopping (naturally) and a bit of sightseeing (naturally). Friday we went to an historic hotel for afternoon tea with another of my friends, and had a wonderful time (and wonderful tiny sandwiches, scones, and delectable goodies). Saturday we drove to the next city (about an hour's drive) to a lovely restaurant for prime rib and Yorkshire pudding. It was well worth the trip. Oh my, that dinner was good! J had Saskatoon berry crumble with vanilla ice cream to top off the meal (and I admit I had a spoonful of the crumble, despite my hypoglycemia. It was so very good!) It was a nice drive out of town, as well. It certainly showed J just how flat the prairie can be!
Today was a very different day, as we spent much of the day preparing J's costume for the Singalong Sound of Music we'll be attending in St. Paul, Minnesota on Saturday the 22nd. (Yes, at the end of this week, I'll be in Minnesota again!) My costume has been ready for a couple of weeks, since mine just involved finding the right thing and buying it... J's involved us finding the right fabric, and putting it together.
Remember the scene in The Sound of Music, after the children's fears of the storm have been calmed by Maria singing "My Favorite Things" and the Captain has sent them scurrying back to their bedrooms? Maria ponders the children's lack of playclothes and the fact that there will be new drapes for her bedroom, and has the brainwave that the drapes would make perfect playclothes. Well, we are going to illustrate that scene.
I have found just the right nightgown and robe to allow me to portray Maria as she ponders the problem (and last time I had my hair cut, I got it cut the way Julie had hers in the 1970s -- I just couldn't bring myself to get the full Sound of Music cut. The 1970s style is close enough.) So... that's half the scene. What about J? J decided on her costume first, actually. She is going as the drapes. Yes, the drapes. We found just the right fabric on Thursday, and today we cut the fabric and hemmed it (we will not discuss our method of hemming, thank you very much) and I will fashion rod pockets of some sort so that she can wear the drapes over her shoulders. (If you've ever seen the episode of the Carol Burnett Show in which she did a parody of Gone With the Wind, with Scarlett's famous drapery dress being actual drapes on a rod across her shoulders, J's will be a smaller version of that.) I will post pictures on Saturday of the two of us in our finery.
Tomorrow we hope to go out to my hometown so that I can show J around my home area. I'll tell you about that tomorrow.
Having J join me for part of my staycation has to be one of the best ideas I've had in a long time! Thank you, J!!!
A long time spent in a hotel in one's home city could get rather tedious... or not. When I realized that there were two lovely big beds in my hotel room (and, as it turns out, I had to switch hotels, and now have a two-room suite!) I contacted my friend J in Minnesota, with whom I traveled to England in the summer, and she's come up to spend a week with me. We are having a wonderful time together, and it's made the staid staycation into a delightful vacation.
We haven't been indulging in too much wild or riotous living, I promise! Due to J's MS, she is limited in the amount she can do in a day, and due to my rather low energy-level, that works well for me. We have been having a good time anyway.
Her plane was late getting in last Wednesday, due to very foggy conditions here, and she was in definite need of food when she finally arrived after 2 p.m. -- so we went straight to a delightful little restaurant that serves British food, and in particular, serves a wonderful cream tea. While she had a cranberry-cream cheese and cucumber sandwich and a pot of PG Tips tea, I enjoyed scones with clotted cream. Mmmmm...
We've done a bit of shopping (naturally) and a bit of sightseeing (naturally). Friday we went to an historic hotel for afternoon tea with another of my friends, and had a wonderful time (and wonderful tiny sandwiches, scones, and delectable goodies). Saturday we drove to the next city (about an hour's drive) to a lovely restaurant for prime rib and Yorkshire pudding. It was well worth the trip. Oh my, that dinner was good! J had Saskatoon berry crumble with vanilla ice cream to top off the meal (and I admit I had a spoonful of the crumble, despite my hypoglycemia. It was so very good!) It was a nice drive out of town, as well. It certainly showed J just how flat the prairie can be!
Today was a very different day, as we spent much of the day preparing J's costume for the Singalong Sound of Music we'll be attending in St. Paul, Minnesota on Saturday the 22nd. (Yes, at the end of this week, I'll be in Minnesota again!) My costume has been ready for a couple of weeks, since mine just involved finding the right thing and buying it... J's involved us finding the right fabric, and putting it together.
Remember the scene in The Sound of Music, after the children's fears of the storm have been calmed by Maria singing "My Favorite Things" and the Captain has sent them scurrying back to their bedrooms? Maria ponders the children's lack of playclothes and the fact that there will be new drapes for her bedroom, and has the brainwave that the drapes would make perfect playclothes. Well, we are going to illustrate that scene.
I have found just the right nightgown and robe to allow me to portray Maria as she ponders the problem (and last time I had my hair cut, I got it cut the way Julie had hers in the 1970s -- I just couldn't bring myself to get the full Sound of Music cut. The 1970s style is close enough.) So... that's half the scene. What about J? J decided on her costume first, actually. She is going as the drapes. Yes, the drapes. We found just the right fabric on Thursday, and today we cut the fabric and hemmed it (we will not discuss our method of hemming, thank you very much) and I will fashion rod pockets of some sort so that she can wear the drapes over her shoulders. (If you've ever seen the episode of the Carol Burnett Show in which she did a parody of Gone With the Wind, with Scarlett's famous drapery dress being actual drapes on a rod across her shoulders, J's will be a smaller version of that.) I will post pictures on Saturday of the two of us in our finery.
Tomorrow we hope to go out to my hometown so that I can show J around my home area. I'll tell you about that tomorrow.
Having J join me for part of my staycation has to be one of the best ideas I've had in a long time! Thank you, J!!!
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Giving Thanks...
This weekend is Thanksgiving weekend in Canada. All over the country, people will be gathering together for turkey dinners, family traditions, football games (both of the pick-up and the professional variety), and yes, for giving thanks.
I'm beginning to carve out my own traditions as I face the various family holidays on my own for the first time. I decided this morning that one of those traditions will be a blog post about the things I'm grateful for in the past year. And despite this year having been a difficult one for a variety of reasons, there is so much that I am grateful for.
First of all, my parents. At this time last year, I knew my time with them was drawing to a close, although thankfully I didn't know how short a time we had left. This morning I was looking back with some regrets that I didn't do more for and with them, but I know in my heart that I did as much as I could at the time, and that our relationship was unique and precious. I will cherish them both in my heart for as long as I live.
Next, my friends. Without my wonderful friends and extended family, I don't know how I would have coped in the last three years as I dealt with the deterioration of Mum's and Dad's health, and with their eventual death. Friends that sat with me late at night, either on person or on the phone or through email, listening to my grief and anxiety; friends that gave me a shoulder (literal and cyber) to lean on through the process of saying goodbye to Mum and Dad; friends that helped me deal with all that it took to make my parents' home my own; friends that encouraged me to spread my wings and be all that I can be. All are treasured.
This past year has given me some wondrous gifts. Gradually becoming my own person again was one of them. Discovering that I could enjoy traveling again was another. Spending time in Walton-on-Thames and in Los Angeles were the best things that could have happened to me. The incredible opportunity to spend a bit of time with Julie Andrews was something I will treasure forever. Meeting new people, making new friends, learning new things... Working with Emma Walton Hamilton on my writing has helped me grow both as a writer and as a person.
Oh my -- I could go on and on!
Am I lucky, or what? Am I blessed, or what?
I am certainly grateful.
I'm beginning to carve out my own traditions as I face the various family holidays on my own for the first time. I decided this morning that one of those traditions will be a blog post about the things I'm grateful for in the past year. And despite this year having been a difficult one for a variety of reasons, there is so much that I am grateful for.
First of all, my parents. At this time last year, I knew my time with them was drawing to a close, although thankfully I didn't know how short a time we had left. This morning I was looking back with some regrets that I didn't do more for and with them, but I know in my heart that I did as much as I could at the time, and that our relationship was unique and precious. I will cherish them both in my heart for as long as I live.
Next, my friends. Without my wonderful friends and extended family, I don't know how I would have coped in the last three years as I dealt with the deterioration of Mum's and Dad's health, and with their eventual death. Friends that sat with me late at night, either on person or on the phone or through email, listening to my grief and anxiety; friends that gave me a shoulder (literal and cyber) to lean on through the process of saying goodbye to Mum and Dad; friends that helped me deal with all that it took to make my parents' home my own; friends that encouraged me to spread my wings and be all that I can be. All are treasured.
This past year has given me some wondrous gifts. Gradually becoming my own person again was one of them. Discovering that I could enjoy traveling again was another. Spending time in Walton-on-Thames and in Los Angeles were the best things that could have happened to me. The incredible opportunity to spend a bit of time with Julie Andrews was something I will treasure forever. Meeting new people, making new friends, learning new things... Working with Emma Walton Hamilton on my writing has helped me grow both as a writer and as a person.
Oh my -- I could go on and on!
Am I lucky, or what? Am I blessed, or what?
I am certainly grateful.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
This Wardrobe Doesn't Lead to Narnia...
I mentioned needing a Closet Cure. Because of the state of the storage room, this is going to be a full-winter project, I think.
The entryway closet is in good shape.
For those of you who were with me through various iterations of Wardrobe Therapy, when I usually had 3 pairs of pants and a few tops to my name, the next picture will likely shock you.
My bedroom closet is organized, but rather full.
I assure you that those are all clothes that I, SCB, own. They currently fit. They are in use. They are not theatrical props. There is also a small suitcase filled with winter tops, and various other winter clothes in a dresser drawer. Clothes that are the next size down from my current size fill another dresser drawer.
For those wardrobe-etiquette mavens among you, I assure you that as soon as possible, the white pants will be moved to another closet. I intend to make the Writing Room closet the repository for off-season clothes. That hinges on readying the Writing Room closet to receive them.
It's not quite ready for prime time. The laundry hamper/baskets currently live here (this is not where they will reside permanently), as does Mum's walker. The way the walker is tucked in precludes closing one side of the folding door. This closet needs decluttering.
However, that hinges on the BIG PROJECT OF THE WINTER. Finishing the sorting, shredding, organizing of the Storage Room. Eventually, the laundry baskets will live on top of the dresser that's in the storage room. A great deal must be done before that's even remotely possible.
I believe the phrase that's appropriate here is "I have my work cut out for me." It will have to happen baby step by baby step, however. My main work, my writing, has to take priority. But it will get done. I'm determined about that.
Stay tuned.
The entryway closet is in good shape.
For those of you who were with me through various iterations of Wardrobe Therapy, when I usually had 3 pairs of pants and a few tops to my name, the next picture will likely shock you.
My bedroom closet is organized, but rather full.
I assure you that those are all clothes that I, SCB, own. They currently fit. They are in use. They are not theatrical props. There is also a small suitcase filled with winter tops, and various other winter clothes in a dresser drawer. Clothes that are the next size down from my current size fill another dresser drawer.
For those wardrobe-etiquette mavens among you, I assure you that as soon as possible, the white pants will be moved to another closet. I intend to make the Writing Room closet the repository for off-season clothes. That hinges on readying the Writing Room closet to receive them.
It's not quite ready for prime time. The laundry hamper/baskets currently live here (this is not where they will reside permanently), as does Mum's walker. The way the walker is tucked in precludes closing one side of the folding door. This closet needs decluttering.
However, that hinges on the BIG PROJECT OF THE WINTER. Finishing the sorting, shredding, organizing of the Storage Room. Eventually, the laundry baskets will live on top of the dresser that's in the storage room. A great deal must be done before that's even remotely possible.
I believe the phrase that's appropriate here is "I have my work cut out for me." It will have to happen baby step by baby step, however. My main work, my writing, has to take priority. But it will get done. I'm determined about that.
Stay tuned.
(Thanks, ICHC!)
Monday, September 5, 2011
This place needs something...
...aha! I know what it needs! A Closet Cure.
Most of the apartment got cured in the Spring (although at the moment it needs a bit of tidying). The closets look the way my bedroom closet used to look when I was a child and Mum told me to clean my room.
Yep. Stuff piled in every which way.
The entryway closet is fine. Haven't worn coats/jackets much since the Spring Cure, so everything is tidy and intact.
The bedroom closet's not bad. However, very few of the clothes that I've accumulated are actually hanging up in there, because they're in...
The writing room closet. It is currently the repository for laundry that needs to be done, Mum's walker (that makes it impossible to close the door), bits and pieces that don't have a home. The laundry baskets eventually need to move into...
The storage closet, which is the bete noir of the whole shebang. You may recall that toward the end of my Spring Cure, things started to be piled willy-nilly into the storage room so that the writing room could be made livable and workable. The time has come to deal with that.
First step must be a laundry marathon. You are going to be amazed at how many items of clothing I own. Totally amazed.
You will have to content yourself with using your imagination for the before-laundry-marathon picture. My frame of mind does not lead to a wish for self-humiliation at the moment.
Stay tuned for a crowded closet picture coming up once the laundry is done. (Note: This could take a while. I'm also participating in a platform-building campaign on my writing blog, sending a picture-book manuscript to a freelance editor for a manuscript evaluation, and re-starting a middle grade novel manuscript, so I'll be fitting the Closet Cure in amidst all that. Writing takes priority over all else.)
Most of the apartment got cured in the Spring (although at the moment it needs a bit of tidying). The closets look the way my bedroom closet used to look when I was a child and Mum told me to clean my room.
Yep. Stuff piled in every which way.
The entryway closet is fine. Haven't worn coats/jackets much since the Spring Cure, so everything is tidy and intact.
The bedroom closet's not bad. However, very few of the clothes that I've accumulated are actually hanging up in there, because they're in...
The writing room closet. It is currently the repository for laundry that needs to be done, Mum's walker (that makes it impossible to close the door), bits and pieces that don't have a home. The laundry baskets eventually need to move into...
The storage closet, which is the bete noir of the whole shebang. You may recall that toward the end of my Spring Cure, things started to be piled willy-nilly into the storage room so that the writing room could be made livable and workable. The time has come to deal with that.
First step must be a laundry marathon. You are going to be amazed at how many items of clothing I own. Totally amazed.
You will have to content yourself with using your imagination for the before-laundry-marathon picture. My frame of mind does not lead to a wish for self-humiliation at the moment.
Stay tuned for a crowded closet picture coming up once the laundry is done. (Note: This could take a while. I'm also participating in a platform-building campaign on my writing blog, sending a picture-book manuscript to a freelance editor for a manuscript evaluation, and re-starting a middle grade novel manuscript, so I'll be fitting the Closet Cure in amidst all that. Writing takes priority over all else.)
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Steel Cut Oats
While I was in Los Angeles, I reveled in the breakfast buffet the restaurant, Breeze, served every morning. I especially reveled in the steel cut oats. Mmmm... with a little cinnamon, and a healthy dollop of plain yogurt alongside, they were delicious.
I've found a source of organic steel cut oats here, and this morning is my first attempt at cooking them. (My doctor has given me until Christmas to show him I can lower my cholesterol through diet and exercise. This seems like a very good place to start.)
I searched the web for recipes for steel cut oats. The first few sites I found weren't quite what I was looking for. Their recipes added this, that, and the other thing to the oats. Not what I want. I then searched the words proportions water steel cut oats. This gave me much more useful hits. When I clicked on the one that seemed most promising, to my surprise (and delight) I found myself in the Apartment Therapy Kitchn!
Now if I just had the porridge plate that my aunt gave me when I lived in Saskatoon, but that I gave back when I moved, not being totally sure that she really meant for me to keep it...
If you'd like to enjoy some steel cut oats a la the AT Kitchn, here's the link.
I've found a source of organic steel cut oats here, and this morning is my first attempt at cooking them. (My doctor has given me until Christmas to show him I can lower my cholesterol through diet and exercise. This seems like a very good place to start.)
I searched the web for recipes for steel cut oats. The first few sites I found weren't quite what I was looking for. Their recipes added this, that, and the other thing to the oats. Not what I want. I then searched the words proportions water steel cut oats. This gave me much more useful hits. When I clicked on the one that seemed most promising, to my surprise (and delight) I found myself in the Apartment Therapy Kitchn!
Now if I just had the porridge plate that my aunt gave me when I lived in Saskatoon, but that I gave back when I moved, not being totally sure that she really meant for me to keep it...
If you'd like to enjoy some steel cut oats a la the AT Kitchn, here's the link.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Across a... well, an uncrowded room...
As seen on min/min's blog. I couldn't resist. I MadMen'd myself. (I'm sure that if I remembered I had a TV at the correct time, I would enjoy the show.) (And if I'd known I was going to end up in the setting I chose, I would have dressed my character differently. My character needs Wardrobe Therapy.)
Sunday, August 14, 2011
City of the Angels
Late Friday night (about midnight, August 12) I got home from a trip to Los Angeles. I had left two and a half days after getting home from England. After not traveling for years, the fact that I've made these two trips is amazing to me.
Amazing, but true.
I went down to LA to attend the 40th annual Summer Conference of the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI). It was an inspiring, intense three days of keynote speeches, workshops, socializing, networking among 1,342 writers, illustrators, agents, publishers, editors, followed by a day of "intensive" workshops -- a 3 hour workshop in the morning and another 3 hour one in the afternoon.
Highlights were keynotes by fantasy author Bruce Coville, illustrator David Small, YA (young adult novel) author Libba Bray, a workshop by Libba, and an intensive on writing fantasy novels by Bruce. Richard Peck was also incredibly inspiring in his speech at the Golden Kite awards luncheon. I could go on and on.
The networking was also fantastic. I met members of the Children's Book Hub to which I belong, and also met other writers and illustrators from many places (there were attendees from 49 states and 20 different countries). Every year there's a poolside party on the Saturday of the conference, with a different theme for costumes. This year, since it was the 40th anniversary, the theme was "A 40 winks PJ Party." Seeing hundreds of writers, illustrators and others in the children's book world dancing around the lawn by the pool at the Hyatt Regency Century Plaza in PAJAMAS has to be seen to be believed. Okay, here's a sample. Me, in my Very Fairy Princess "Let Your Sparkle Out" PJs, with my copy of The Very Fairy Princess. I'd never danced with a book before. I can recommend it.
I'd also never seen so many people taking photos of their dessert -- but when the dessert was served at the awards luncheon, cameras were flashing all over the place. It was an incredible dessert -- I could only eat the berries and a tiny bit of the cream inside the chocolate book, but oh my, it was good.
Do I look happy, or what? Honestly, I was amazed at how happy and relaxed I was in LA. It was my first trip there, and except for a couple of people I knew from online contact, I was in the midst of strangers, yet I felt completely comfortable. I have changed and grown so much in recent months. Sometimes I can hardly believe how much. It's such a good feeling.
After the conference was over, I stayed in LA for a few days, did a bit of research for my adult novel project (although not as much as I'd hoped, as some of my plans didn't pan out). I went on a five hour "deluxe" tour of Warner Brothers Studios, which was fascinating -- but left me wanting more. I visited an area of LA where some of the characters in my novel live, and imagined myself as one or the other of them as I went about the day. That gave me some insights into the characters and their experiences that I wouldn't have had otherwise.
In past years, any time I was away, there was always at least one time during the vacation that I just wanted to be home. That wasn't the case either in England or in LA, and I didn't want to leave Los Angeles when Friday came. I know I'll be back.
Amazing, but true.
I went down to LA to attend the 40th annual Summer Conference of the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI). It was an inspiring, intense three days of keynote speeches, workshops, socializing, networking among 1,342 writers, illustrators, agents, publishers, editors, followed by a day of "intensive" workshops -- a 3 hour workshop in the morning and another 3 hour one in the afternoon.
Highlights were keynotes by fantasy author Bruce Coville, illustrator David Small, YA (young adult novel) author Libba Bray, a workshop by Libba, and an intensive on writing fantasy novels by Bruce. Richard Peck was also incredibly inspiring in his speech at the Golden Kite awards luncheon. I could go on and on.
The networking was also fantastic. I met members of the Children's Book Hub to which I belong, and also met other writers and illustrators from many places (there were attendees from 49 states and 20 different countries). Every year there's a poolside party on the Saturday of the conference, with a different theme for costumes. This year, since it was the 40th anniversary, the theme was "A 40 winks PJ Party." Seeing hundreds of writers, illustrators and others in the children's book world dancing around the lawn by the pool at the Hyatt Regency Century Plaza in PAJAMAS has to be seen to be believed. Okay, here's a sample. Me, in my Very Fairy Princess "Let Your Sparkle Out" PJs, with my copy of The Very Fairy Princess. I'd never danced with a book before. I can recommend it.
I'd also never seen so many people taking photos of their dessert -- but when the dessert was served at the awards luncheon, cameras were flashing all over the place. It was an incredible dessert -- I could only eat the berries and a tiny bit of the cream inside the chocolate book, but oh my, it was good.
Do I look happy, or what? Honestly, I was amazed at how happy and relaxed I was in LA. It was my first trip there, and except for a couple of people I knew from online contact, I was in the midst of strangers, yet I felt completely comfortable. I have changed and grown so much in recent months. Sometimes I can hardly believe how much. It's such a good feeling.
After the conference was over, I stayed in LA for a few days, did a bit of research for my adult novel project (although not as much as I'd hoped, as some of my plans didn't pan out). I went on a five hour "deluxe" tour of Warner Brothers Studios, which was fascinating -- but left me wanting more. I visited an area of LA where some of the characters in my novel live, and imagined myself as one or the other of them as I went about the day. That gave me some insights into the characters and their experiences that I wouldn't have had otherwise.
In past years, any time I was away, there was always at least one time during the vacation that I just wanted to be home. That wasn't the case either in England or in LA, and I didn't want to leave Los Angeles when Friday came. I know I'll be back.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Oh to be in England...
I'm breaking into my blog hiatus briefly, to let you know that I've just come back from a wonderful 9 days in England.
My traveling chum, J, and I didn’t want to leave England on Sunday. We both could have happily stayed forever in the village where we spent most of our time. As it is, we’re already planning our next trip, hoping to go back in two years (for J’s 70th birthday).
For the first three days, a friend from Ireland joined us, and the three of us had a wonderful time together. Up until then, we’d only known S through emails — we got along as if we’d known each other in person for years. Never let anyone tell you that online friendships are not “real” friendships.
S had rented a car, and driving down the motorway, or in the villages, or in London, didn’t seem to phase her one bit. It was so good to have her driving skills on call, as well as her delightful personality.
I’d like to share just a few highlights from our trip — and might I say it’s very difficult to choose highlights, because there were so many during the course of our brief, 8-day stay (the 9th day was the day we left).
On Sunday, we had the traditional roast beef and Yorkshire pudding at a pub on the Thames. Although the roast beef and pud weren’t as good as my mother or my grandmother used to make, the veggies were superb, the company delightful, and the setting idyllic.
Monday evening, we attended a performance of Pygmalion, with Rupert Everett as Henry Higgins, at the Garrick Theatre, Charing Cross Road. We’d been looking forward to seeing Dame Diana Rigg as Mrs. Higgins, but unfortunately she was ill that night, so we saw her understudy instead. It was a very good production — and we felt right in the heart of the action, as S had bought tickets in the 4th row of the stalls! Great vantage point for everything.
For three of our nights in England, we stayed at the most wonderful B&B -- it was my first experience of a B&B, and it may well have spoiled me for any other accommodation, anywhere, anytime. We’re already planning our next visit — the next time we’re in the area, we will stay at that B&B for the entire time. We both hated to leave it (we bracketed our stay there with stays in two historic hotels).
The view from my bedroom window:
On Wednesday, friends of mine from a bit north of London drove down and took us to Runnymede, where we visited the Allied Air Forces memorial (and I saw my uncle’s name in the list of personnel who died in 1942), and of course, the Magna Carta memorial
On Thursday we took a river cruise down the Thames to Kingston and Richmond (and I thought of the Little Grey Men going Down the Bright Stream.) Friday we celebrated J’s 68th birthday with a steak dinner at the river’s edge. We ate there again the next night. We could not get enough of being on or near the Thames.
One final photo — standing on a picturesque bridge, looking down the Thames…
You know the song “I left my heart in San Francisco”? I think I left at least a piece of my heart in that village on the Thames.
The blog hiatus will now resume until mid-August.
My traveling chum, J, and I didn’t want to leave England on Sunday. We both could have happily stayed forever in the village where we spent most of our time. As it is, we’re already planning our next trip, hoping to go back in two years (for J’s 70th birthday).
For the first three days, a friend from Ireland joined us, and the three of us had a wonderful time together. Up until then, we’d only known S through emails — we got along as if we’d known each other in person for years. Never let anyone tell you that online friendships are not “real” friendships.
S had rented a car, and driving down the motorway, or in the villages, or in London, didn’t seem to phase her one bit. It was so good to have her driving skills on call, as well as her delightful personality.
I’d like to share just a few highlights from our trip — and might I say it’s very difficult to choose highlights, because there were so many during the course of our brief, 8-day stay (the 9th day was the day we left).
On Sunday, we had the traditional roast beef and Yorkshire pudding at a pub on the Thames. Although the roast beef and pud weren’t as good as my mother or my grandmother used to make, the veggies were superb, the company delightful, and the setting idyllic.
On Monday, we drove into London and had lunch at the Dorchester Hotel with my friend, Brian Sibley. Brian is a writer, radio broadcaster, C.S. Lewis expert, Tolkien expert, the list goes ever on… He is also a delightful person, and our lunch extended over three hours! (Left to right: J, me, S, Brian)
Monday evening, we attended a performance of Pygmalion, with Rupert Everett as Henry Higgins, at the Garrick Theatre, Charing Cross Road. We’d been looking forward to seeing Dame Diana Rigg as Mrs. Higgins, but unfortunately she was ill that night, so we saw her understudy instead. It was a very good production — and we felt right in the heart of the action, as S had bought tickets in the 4th row of the stalls! Great vantage point for everything.
For three of our nights in England, we stayed at the most wonderful B&B -- it was my first experience of a B&B, and it may well have spoiled me for any other accommodation, anywhere, anytime. We’re already planning our next visit — the next time we’re in the area, we will stay at that B&B for the entire time. We both hated to leave it (we bracketed our stay there with stays in two historic hotels).
The view from my bedroom window:
On Wednesday, friends of mine from a bit north of London drove down and took us to Runnymede, where we visited the Allied Air Forces memorial (and I saw my uncle’s name in the list of personnel who died in 1942), and of course, the Magna Carta memorial
On Thursday we took a river cruise down the Thames to Kingston and Richmond (and I thought of the Little Grey Men going Down the Bright Stream.) Friday we celebrated J’s 68th birthday with a steak dinner at the river’s edge. We ate there again the next night. We could not get enough of being on or near the Thames.
One final photo — standing on a picturesque bridge, looking down the Thames…
The blog hiatus will now resume until mid-August.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
On Hiatus
This blog (and its writer) will be on hiatus until mid-August. There will be many tales to tell then!
Enjoy the summer!
Enjoy the summer!
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Grace and Gratitude
I know many of you were holding me in your thoughts yesterday -- thank you -- so I want to share with you some of the events of the day.
If you’ve read my previous post, you’ll know that on Saturday, July 9, I traveled out of the city to the small country cemetery near our farm, for the interment of ashes of both my parents.
It was a glorious day, both in terms of weather and in terms of the experience itself. I couldn’t have asked for better for my Mum and Dad. There wasn’t even a wisp of cloud in the wide prairie sky; it was warm but not uncomfortably hot; there was enough breeze to keep the mosquitoes at bay; because of all the rain we’ve had, the grass in the cemetery was green, rather than the usual dry prairie tawny gold; and I was surrounded by the love of members of my extended family, and my family of friends, of all the family and friends who have gone before, and of all my wonderful extended family of online friends whom I know were holding me in their thoughts as the service progressed.
That morning, as I got ready for the day, I suddenly wished that I had thought to purchase two roses to leave on the grave. I didn’t have time at that point to go out to a florist, nor did I want to call a friend at such a late moment to do this for me. I reconciled myself to not having roses for Mum and Dad — although roses have always marked special observances for our family. When I got to the cemetery, I found that two friends from the city, whom I’d thought were unable to attend, were there — and the dear lady had two red roses with her! She had followed an inner prompting to buy two red roses, separate and yet tied together. She was hesitant at the cemetery, because no one else had flowers — and then I went up to them to greet them, saw the roses, and said, “You must have read my mind!” She was so grateful that she had followed that inner prompting, and had provided that which I needed. Serendipity? Grace? Surely there was guidance of some sort at work.
The wonderful funeral director who had been with me through Mum’s service and Dad’s drove the limo to take us out to the cemetery, and arranged every part of the service graciously and with gentle care. I so appreciate his presence through all these transition points in my life.
Although there were, as I have said, many of my extended family there, there were two first cousins who were able to travel down to my home, and accompany me to the graveside. As the service began, the cousin representing Mum’s side of the family carried Mum’s urn to the graveside, while the cousin representing Dad’s side of the family bore Dad’s urn. It was a deeply meaningful moment for me. I carried the roses my friend had brought, and lay them next to the urns at the graveside.
A dear minister friend stood beside me, and offered words of Scripture and of comfort, and then asked me to speak. I had no notes, I’d made no specific plans about what to say, I just spoke from my heart, using some of the phrases I had used in my previous blog post, about the prairie grass, and the wind in the trees surrounding us, the feeling of being surrounded by a “great cloud of witnesses” (as in a passage from Hebrews 12 in the Bible), the comfort of looking out from the spot where we were standing to my grandparents’ farm, and knowing our farm was so near as well, and knowing how much Dad had loved the land immediately adjacent to the cemetery. I spoke of the hymn I had written, and how when Mum and I had talked a year or more ago about what she would like on her urn, she had decided she wanted the words of that hymn — so our dear potter/artist friend crafted an urn with the words of the first verse of that hymn, and depictions of wild roses and prairie crocuses. Dad’s urn had depictions of stalks of wheat, to signify his love for the land and for farming. By then my voice was breaking, and tears were running down my cheeks, but I was able to sing one more time for Mum and Dad. Mum used to tell me that she would draw strength from her audience, and indeed, I did so yesterday. Focusing on the meaning of the words and using my voice to convey that meaning — as well as singing for an audience of two, Mum and Dad — got me through that solo, and I was so grateful that I’d been able to sing for them once more.
The funeral director had asked if I’d like to be part of the lowering of the urns, and I’d said I would, so when the time came, he put each urn into its cloth bag and steadied me as I knelt (no mean feat for these arthritic knees!) and lowered Mum’s urn into her grave, then Dad’s into his. I had an opportunity that way for a personal, quiet word of “Goodbye, Mama”, “Goodbye, Daddy”. After most of the people had left, just before my cousin began filling in the graves, I put one red rose in with Dad’s urn, and one with Mum’s.
After the service, we drove into town to the church we used to attend, where the ladies had prepared a lunch for us. There were some folk there who’d not been at the graveside, all dearly familiar folk from my growing-up years. It was so good to be among them.
It was, indeed, a day filled with moments of grace and gratitude.
If you’ve read my previous post, you’ll know that on Saturday, July 9, I traveled out of the city to the small country cemetery near our farm, for the interment of ashes of both my parents.
It was a glorious day, both in terms of weather and in terms of the experience itself. I couldn’t have asked for better for my Mum and Dad. There wasn’t even a wisp of cloud in the wide prairie sky; it was warm but not uncomfortably hot; there was enough breeze to keep the mosquitoes at bay; because of all the rain we’ve had, the grass in the cemetery was green, rather than the usual dry prairie tawny gold; and I was surrounded by the love of members of my extended family, and my family of friends, of all the family and friends who have gone before, and of all my wonderful extended family of online friends whom I know were holding me in their thoughts as the service progressed.
That morning, as I got ready for the day, I suddenly wished that I had thought to purchase two roses to leave on the grave. I didn’t have time at that point to go out to a florist, nor did I want to call a friend at such a late moment to do this for me. I reconciled myself to not having roses for Mum and Dad — although roses have always marked special observances for our family. When I got to the cemetery, I found that two friends from the city, whom I’d thought were unable to attend, were there — and the dear lady had two red roses with her! She had followed an inner prompting to buy two red roses, separate and yet tied together. She was hesitant at the cemetery, because no one else had flowers — and then I went up to them to greet them, saw the roses, and said, “You must have read my mind!” She was so grateful that she had followed that inner prompting, and had provided that which I needed. Serendipity? Grace? Surely there was guidance of some sort at work.
The wonderful funeral director who had been with me through Mum’s service and Dad’s drove the limo to take us out to the cemetery, and arranged every part of the service graciously and with gentle care. I so appreciate his presence through all these transition points in my life.
Although there were, as I have said, many of my extended family there, there were two first cousins who were able to travel down to my home, and accompany me to the graveside. As the service began, the cousin representing Mum’s side of the family carried Mum’s urn to the graveside, while the cousin representing Dad’s side of the family bore Dad’s urn. It was a deeply meaningful moment for me. I carried the roses my friend had brought, and lay them next to the urns at the graveside.
A dear minister friend stood beside me, and offered words of Scripture and of comfort, and then asked me to speak. I had no notes, I’d made no specific plans about what to say, I just spoke from my heart, using some of the phrases I had used in my previous blog post, about the prairie grass, and the wind in the trees surrounding us, the feeling of being surrounded by a “great cloud of witnesses” (as in a passage from Hebrews 12 in the Bible), the comfort of looking out from the spot where we were standing to my grandparents’ farm, and knowing our farm was so near as well, and knowing how much Dad had loved the land immediately adjacent to the cemetery. I spoke of the hymn I had written, and how when Mum and I had talked a year or more ago about what she would like on her urn, she had decided she wanted the words of that hymn — so our dear potter/artist friend crafted an urn with the words of the first verse of that hymn, and depictions of wild roses and prairie crocuses. Dad’s urn had depictions of stalks of wheat, to signify his love for the land and for farming. By then my voice was breaking, and tears were running down my cheeks, but I was able to sing one more time for Mum and Dad. Mum used to tell me that she would draw strength from her audience, and indeed, I did so yesterday. Focusing on the meaning of the words and using my voice to convey that meaning — as well as singing for an audience of two, Mum and Dad — got me through that solo, and I was so grateful that I’d been able to sing for them once more.
The funeral director had asked if I’d like to be part of the lowering of the urns, and I’d said I would, so when the time came, he put each urn into its cloth bag and steadied me as I knelt (no mean feat for these arthritic knees!) and lowered Mum’s urn into her grave, then Dad’s into his. I had an opportunity that way for a personal, quiet word of “Goodbye, Mama”, “Goodbye, Daddy”. After most of the people had left, just before my cousin began filling in the graves, I put one red rose in with Dad’s urn, and one with Mum’s.
After the service, we drove into town to the church we used to attend, where the ladies had prepared a lunch for us. There were some folk there who’d not been at the graveside, all dearly familiar folk from my growing-up years. It was so good to be among them.
It was, indeed, a day filled with moments of grace and gratitude.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Earth to earth...
On Saturday, July 9, friends and family will gather with me in a small country cemetery for the interment of the ashes of my mother, who died November 14, 2010 and my father, who died January 15, 2011. With the scent of the freshly-mown natural prairie grass in our nostrils, and the sound of the wind in the evergreen trees in our ears, surrounded by the graves of generations of our families, we will listen to the words of comfort spoken by a friend of mine and I’ll sing one more time for my Mum and Dad.
My paternal great-grandparents came from England in 1880, and made their way west to settle in the area I still think of as Home in 1882, when my grandfather was four years old. Our family were some of the first European settlers in the area. My great-grandmother is buried in that little cemetery (after her death, my great-grandfather returned to England, and he is buried there). My grandparents are buried there, and now my parents will be — and some day my pottery urn, lovingly handcrafted by the same artist friend who made Mum’s and Dad’s urns, will be laid to rest next to those of my parents. The cemetery looks toward the farm where I grew up — the land that was our land is just across the narrow dirt road. The farmland directly east of the cemetery is the piece of land that Dad loved best on earth. That soil is a part of us, and now Mum and Dad will become a part of it. Earth to earth…
On Saturday afternoon, as we stand together in that cemetery that holds so many of the friends and family I have loved, I will sing one of my hymns, which begins
I am so grateful for that sure and steadfast hope, and I am grateful for the ability to sing in spite of grief, for in music there is connection, and there is healing.
In words that I used in the memorial card at Dad’s service in January –
My paternal great-grandparents came from England in 1880, and made their way west to settle in the area I still think of as Home in 1882, when my grandfather was four years old. Our family were some of the first European settlers in the area. My great-grandmother is buried in that little cemetery (after her death, my great-grandfather returned to England, and he is buried there). My grandparents are buried there, and now my parents will be — and some day my pottery urn, lovingly handcrafted by the same artist friend who made Mum’s and Dad’s urns, will be laid to rest next to those of my parents. The cemetery looks toward the farm where I grew up — the land that was our land is just across the narrow dirt road. The farmland directly east of the cemetery is the piece of land that Dad loved best on earth. That soil is a part of us, and now Mum and Dad will become a part of it. Earth to earth…
On Saturday afternoon, as we stand together in that cemetery that holds so many of the friends and family I have loved, I will sing one of my hymns, which begins
Like a crocus on the prairie,
Like a rose in midst of thorn,
Hope can flower in the desert,
Help us bear what must be borne.
Like a rose in midst of thorn,
Hope can flower in the desert,
Help us bear what must be borne.
In words that I used in the memorial card at Dad’s service in January –
May we be granted the grace and strength
to fully live our lives til the end of our days,
and then take flight to our next destination with joy.
to fully live our lives til the end of our days,
and then take flight to our next destination with joy.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
The Write Place at the Write Time...
I don't know why I've been procrastinating about showing you my Writing Room except that, well, I've been busy writing. The room has been finished for some time now, and I am pleased to report that I am very happy with it. It is more than just a pleasant place to work -- it is my space, and I think it's safe to say it is "unique in all the world." May I show you around? Good, I was hoping you'd say, "Yes."
I'd given you a sneak peek quite some time ago, but to refresh your memory, this is what you see from the doorway:
Here's a close-up of the "couch" aka the hospital-style bed. I chose the duvet cover because I wanted something abstract that would express creativity. This adds a note of fun, color, and youthfulness to the room, I think. (Either that or it looks as though I've put a well-splashed painter's drop-cloth on the bed.)
Turning slightly clockwise (using an analog clock. If there comes a day when there are no longer analog clocks, will we have to find another word to express the notion of turning "clockwise"?) ... I'm sorry, I digress. Turning slightly clockwise from the bed, you see the two abstract art prints that adorn the south wall of the Writing Room. These are the work of my online friend Robin, a very talented person -- I enjoy having her art on my walls!
My desk, with the laptop at the ready. You can't imagine what a relief it was to move the table/cart that had held all the old PC detritus out of the room -- I feel so much less hemmed in now that it's gone! We also moved the desk a little further into the room, giving me more room to maneuver behind the desk, which makes things more comfortable back here. I confess that the desk isn't always this tidy, but I do try.
The tiny art pieces to the left of the closet door are original canvases, "Tableaux", by Angela Cartwright, who does very intriguing "altered art". After I bought one, I couldn't resist buying more!
I did a LOT of work sorting out the books, getting rid of many, and transferring another many into the storage room (they're not as accessible there, but they're ones I don't use much, but was not willing to part with). What is left on the bookshelves in the Writing Room is the cream of the crop -- at least as far as the purpose of the room is concerned. On the bookcase on the left as I face them I have one shelf with picture books, one with middle grade and young adult novels, one with books about the craft of writing, one with music and reference books. On the bookcase to the right as I face them are biographies and autobiographies, a couple of special VHS videos (Julie Andrews' "Duet for One" and "That's Life" -- "Duet for One" has never been released on DVD, although in my opinion it was Julie's finest dramatic role; and "That's Life" is available on DVD but only if one is willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money, so I treasure my VHS copies.) There is a shelf of poetry books and self-help books, and a shelf of stacks of Dad's photograph albums.
What's that in between them, above the electronic keyboard, you ask? It is a poster of the cover art from Julie's and Emma's picture book The Very Fairy Princess. A friend discovered that the publisher was giving away posters such as this through a Twitter contest, and she entered and won one of the posters. They sent it to her in Ireland, she sent it to me in Canada for my birthday last year, and I, with great delight, got it framed and put it up on my wall where I see it every time I look up from my computer. Next to it is a "fairy princess wand" made by the friend of a friend.
As you can see from the lower of the next two pictures, I have various things on the door, as well. There's a bumper-style sticker that reads "Words, Wisdom, Wonder", the motto of the Julie Andrews Collection; a couple of baseball caps, one from the Julie Andrews Collection; and a map of Los Angeles, into which I've stuck pins to indicate the location of the homes of the various characters in my current adult novel project.
You can likely tell that this space gives me joy and inspiration daily. I'm finding it a great place to write -- and that makes all the work of the last several months very worthwhile.
I'd given you a sneak peek quite some time ago, but to refresh your memory, this is what you see from the doorway:
Here's a close-up of the "couch" aka the hospital-style bed. I chose the duvet cover because I wanted something abstract that would express creativity. This adds a note of fun, color, and youthfulness to the room, I think. (Either that or it looks as though I've put a well-splashed painter's drop-cloth on the bed.)
Turning slightly clockwise (using an analog clock. If there comes a day when there are no longer analog clocks, will we have to find another word to express the notion of turning "clockwise"?) ... I'm sorry, I digress. Turning slightly clockwise from the bed, you see the two abstract art prints that adorn the south wall of the Writing Room. These are the work of my online friend Robin, a very talented person -- I enjoy having her art on my walls!
My desk, with the laptop at the ready. You can't imagine what a relief it was to move the table/cart that had held all the old PC detritus out of the room -- I feel so much less hemmed in now that it's gone! We also moved the desk a little further into the room, giving me more room to maneuver behind the desk, which makes things more comfortable back here. I confess that the desk isn't always this tidy, but I do try.
The tiny art pieces to the left of the closet door are original canvases, "Tableaux", by Angela Cartwright, who does very intriguing "altered art". After I bought one, I couldn't resist buying more!
I did a LOT of work sorting out the books, getting rid of many, and transferring another many into the storage room (they're not as accessible there, but they're ones I don't use much, but was not willing to part with). What is left on the bookshelves in the Writing Room is the cream of the crop -- at least as far as the purpose of the room is concerned. On the bookcase on the left as I face them I have one shelf with picture books, one with middle grade and young adult novels, one with books about the craft of writing, one with music and reference books. On the bookcase to the right as I face them are biographies and autobiographies, a couple of special VHS videos (Julie Andrews' "Duet for One" and "That's Life" -- "Duet for One" has never been released on DVD, although in my opinion it was Julie's finest dramatic role; and "That's Life" is available on DVD but only if one is willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money, so I treasure my VHS copies.) There is a shelf of poetry books and self-help books, and a shelf of stacks of Dad's photograph albums.
What's that in between them, above the electronic keyboard, you ask? It is a poster of the cover art from Julie's and Emma's picture book The Very Fairy Princess. A friend discovered that the publisher was giving away posters such as this through a Twitter contest, and she entered and won one of the posters. They sent it to her in Ireland, she sent it to me in Canada for my birthday last year, and I, with great delight, got it framed and put it up on my wall where I see it every time I look up from my computer. Next to it is a "fairy princess wand" made by the friend of a friend.
As you can see from the lower of the next two pictures, I have various things on the door, as well. There's a bumper-style sticker that reads "Words, Wisdom, Wonder", the motto of the Julie Andrews Collection; a couple of baseball caps, one from the Julie Andrews Collection; and a map of Los Angeles, into which I've stuck pins to indicate the location of the homes of the various characters in my current adult novel project.
You can likely tell that this space gives me joy and inspiration daily. I'm finding it a great place to write -- and that makes all the work of the last several months very worthwhile.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Horses always saying goodbye...
That may seem like an odd title for a blog post. I suppose it is, but it’s a phrase that has come to my mind often lately.
In Richard Adams’s book Traveller, a novel set during the U.S. Civil War and told from the point of view of Robert E. Lee’s horse, Traveler, “Horses always saying goodbye” is a phrase Traveler often repeats. Men would come to talk with his master, and he would start to get to know their horses. and then the horse and rider would leave. Sometimes when that man came back to talk with the master, he’d be riding a different horse, because the horse Traveler had known had been shot. Sometimes neither horse nor rider ever returned. Horses always saying goodbye.
Long drawn-out goodbyes are the most difficult, it seems to me, although any parting has the potential to be painful. I have done a bit of writing of my great-grandmother’s story, trying to imagine what it was like to leave her home in England to come with her husband and small children to Canada — to the unbroken prairie — in the early 1880s. How searingly painful the goodbyes must have been, knowing that in all likelihood she would not see her parents, siblings, cousins, friends again. I think of watching my parents in the last two years of their lives — the “goodbye” started when they had falls within 5 days of each other, falls which meant they could no longer live in their own home. The “goodbye” continued as I watched Dad slip further and further into dementia, a process that has been rightly termed “the long goodbye”. Then there was the final goodbye as first Mum, then Dad, died within two months of each other.
And that long goodbye continues. Because of a long, harsh winter, followed by an unusually wet spring, we were unable to have the interment of ashes at our little country cemetery until now — the service for both of them will be held on July 9. I didn’t realize until just the last few days how that would open up all the hurt and the grief and the longing again. There wasn’t anything else that could be done, the cemetery just wasn’t accessible, and I wouldn’t have wanted to have their ashes buried anywhere else, but it’s still difficult to reopen the healing wounds.
When I met Julie Andrews in May, I was able to tell her how much her example of resilience, grace under pressure, and optimism had helped me deal with the difficult times of the last two and a half years. I know that she, too, has been dealing with the grief of a final goodbye, during the illness and after the death of her much-loved husband, Blake. None of us is immune from grief. None of us humans here on this planet we call Earth. It helps to try to meet the pain of our various griefs with resilience and grace and optimism — but also with tears, honest tears. Tears are healing. Tears are necessary. Tears are a blessing. I need to remember that, when I think I shouldn’t be crying. It’s all right to cry. Washington Irving said “There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.” Yes. Oh yes.
Horses always saying goodbye. People always saying goodbye, as well — sometimes over and over and over again. But in those long goodbyes, there is the gratitude of having loved and having been loved. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.
Friday, June 24, 2011
In which SCB assures her readers that she IS still writing...
In case you think that all I ever do these days is sort things and clean things, I have been doing some writing as well, I assure you!
One picture book manuscript, the one I worked on while taking Emma Walton Hamilton‘s Just Write for Kids class, has been through one round of manuscript evaluation, and is currently in a second round. I cannot say enough about how much hiring a freelance editor to evaluate and comment on my manuscript helped me in the revision process.
Another picture book manuscript is in the writing and revision process, and will go with me to a Children’s Writers’ Conference this summer, where I will use it as a foundation upon which to build in a workshop situation.
I’ve just finished writing a 4000+ word outline for the 30 chapters of my adult novel, I have worked out what still needs to be researched, and am putting plans in place to do that research in conjunction with the trip for the writers’ conference.
Next up is writing the outline for a middle-grade fantasy novel and for the series I envision it being a part of, so that I can take that with me to the conference as well.
There is a lot of reading going on around here as well. Reading, writing, but NO ‘rithmetic!
One picture book manuscript, the one I worked on while taking Emma Walton Hamilton‘s Just Write for Kids class, has been through one round of manuscript evaluation, and is currently in a second round. I cannot say enough about how much hiring a freelance editor to evaluate and comment on my manuscript helped me in the revision process.
Another picture book manuscript is in the writing and revision process, and will go with me to a Children’s Writers’ Conference this summer, where I will use it as a foundation upon which to build in a workshop situation.
I’ve just finished writing a 4000+ word outline for the 30 chapters of my adult novel, I have worked out what still needs to be researched, and am putting plans in place to do that research in conjunction with the trip for the writers’ conference.
Next up is writing the outline for a middle-grade fantasy novel and for the series I envision it being a part of, so that I can take that with me to the conference as well.
There is a lot of reading going on around here as well. Reading, writing, but NO ‘rithmetic!
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
At least they're chairs...
... Receiving the SCBscar for Best Actor(s) in a Supporting Role, the dining room chairs doing a turn as living room chairs. At least the room doesn't look so empty (see previous two posts if you wonder why the room was empty before) and there's somewhere to sit. There are two other chairs, at the dining table, so four people can sit in my living room (six with the folding chairs).
At least these chairs don't overwhelm the room the way yesterday's attempt at sofa and chair did! (Please pardon the darkness of the photo, it's because there was so much sunlight streaming in the window.) Enlarging the pics by clicking on them helps in being able to see what I've done (for the interim until I can find proper chairs).
At least these chairs don't overwhelm the room the way yesterday's attempt at sofa and chair did! (Please pardon the darkness of the photo, it's because there was so much sunlight streaming in the window.) Enlarging the pics by clicking on them helps in being able to see what I've done (for the interim until I can find proper chairs).
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Living room mystery solved, but not the way I wanted...
The short version of the story is that I bought new furniture -- a sofa and a chair -- that I thought were going to be perfect. They were delivered today, and they're way too big for the space. They looked so much smaller in the store.
So, they're going away.
Drat.
Lessons learned -- never buy on impulse, and always MEASURE both the space (depth as well as length) and the furniture.
And even though they were floor models, the smell is still bothering me. I thought buying floor models would mean that the smell would have gone out of them.
It was going to be sooooo good. Can you tell I'm disappointed? Very disappointed.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Interim Report -- Living Room Edition
The furniture hasn't been rearranged yet (and the slipcovers bothered my allergies too much, even after several launderings, so I'm back to square one on getting the furniture to look the way I want it) BUT I don't know when last I saw this room so tidy!!! Just had to share!
Be sure to click on the picture to enlarge it. The hard plastic thing over the carpet (and the white duct tape) will be going -- they were there because Dad had very shaky hands, and spilled a lot.
Also, in trying to get a bit of a California/Zen vibe going, I've tried a couple of things. Here are close-ups of the coffee table, and the new tables/plant stands:
The large stones have words on them. See? (You'll have to enlarge the pic to see them properly.)
I'm starting to get a "peaceful easy feeling" from this room...
Be sure to click on the picture to enlarge it. The hard plastic thing over the carpet (and the white duct tape) will be going -- they were there because Dad had very shaky hands, and spilled a lot.
Also, in trying to get a bit of a California/Zen vibe going, I've tried a couple of things. Here are close-ups of the coffee table, and the new tables/plant stands:
The large stones have words on them. See? (You'll have to enlarge the pic to see them properly.)
I'm starting to get a "peaceful easy feeling" from this room...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)