Good Works

          Yesterday was pretty much a writing day.

Infiltrator

Here in The Land Where Time is Forgotten (along with car keys, passwords, and eating after 5:30 p.m. – aka Florida) I’ve tried to do at least a little something constructive with my time.

The Power of Words

Yesterday I dusted off my brain and went to an annual writers’ conference at Mt. Holyoke College.

Bucket List Revelation

     Thanks to the wild range of jobs I've held over the span of my life - waitress, ice cream scooper, CIA clerk, television production, hospital secretary, teacher - I've had a few experiences I might not have had otherwise.

From Author to Victim

      Okay, that’s it. I’m ready to return to the artificial world of Florida where everything feels new and clean and landscape people spray away every possible living thing that could bite or sting.

          Yesterday started out well enough. I packed up a rolling suitcase full to bursting with my books, candy for customers, and one dollar bills to make change and headed off to set up my table at the local authors’ fair in our town.

          We authors were a diverse group – my friend Cheryl's children’s bible stories, a graphic novel about a paranormal investigator, a beloved sportswriter and his memoir, Ellie’s new book about her trip to Tibet, a collection of letters from a family in the 1700s, a novel of history and witchcraft, and an ophthalmologist.

          And we actually had an audience, unlike last year when not even family showed up. I caught up with friends, reacquainted myself with others, and went home a few books lighter. 

          Once home, I morphed from local author to yard lady. My Guy and I grabbed our rakes and blowers and started in on the leaves that had gathered over the winter in spite of our marathons of yard work in the fall. Mamie helped by sitting in the pachysandra, the periwinkle, and following me worriedly every time I disappeared from view around a corner.

          After two hours or so, itchy and sweaty, we stopped for a water break. I was scratching my thigh and looked down to find a dark spot surrounded by a red, sore, and unhappy skin.

 TICK.

       We put down our water, stuffed the dog in the house, and took off for the urgent care center.

          Where      time       slowed       d  o  w  n.

          No one there looked particularly sick, and one family seemed to be having a great time, chatting and ribbing each other when they were loudly recounting past trips for emergency care.

          Even though I knew I could feel the tick burrowing deeper, and even I was sure my leg was becoming more and more painful, I sat for an hour and a half while others went in ahead of me. The people with the clipboards were obviously uncaring that my tick was probably spreading its toxin through my system as each minute passed. I tried not to think about the joint pain and loss of cognitive functions and God knows what-all that can happen as a result of a tick bite.

          Finally, finally, I was called in – the last patient of the day – and waited another 15 minutes for the doctor. He came in, took one look at it, and ordered one round of an antibiotic and left after telling me I was his 10^th tick bite that day.

          Yes, I knew our area was reported as inundated this year with ticks.

Yes, I was stupid, stupid, stupid to be working in shorts.

          But it was actually Mamie I’d been worried about, since she’d been bitten in the fall and had 6 weeks of antibiotics as a result. Friday I’d sprayed the front yard with tick deterrent (we were working in the back) and yesterday wiped her down with a topical deterrent for pets to augment the drops I already put on her once a month.

          Looks like I’ll be using the same wipes on myself, and the next time I lift a rake or a trowel my gardening ensemble will make beekeepers look like they’re headed to a wanton day on the nude beach.   

     

         

Bunnies, Inner Peace, and Murder

          Spring must even come to Florida, the land of perpetual summer. 

Confessions of a Writer

My former high school English students have nothing on me. I’ve sunk to levels of procrastination they could only dream about.

Two Dinners

          Life feels as though it’s zipping along, although I’ve had large swaths of downtime so I fear my absence here is due more to lethargy than pressing obligations.

          The past week included a visit to the hills of New Jersey to visit grandchildren (and their parents) where we stood on a succession of wet soccer fields in unrelenting mist. Still, it was pleasant – isn’t that what the Irish call “soft” weather ? -  and brought back memories of other fields with my own children galloping up and down.

          We also managed a grown-up dinner at a newly opened local restaurant that, sadly, was so excellent its success will likely move it on to a larger venue.

I mean, pork chops with an expresso hazelnut demi-glaze and mustard spaetzle, heirloom carrots and baby kale? Or my chkoice: wood grilled shrimp with creamy heairloom grits, smokey bourbon butter, braised greens, and jalapeno jelly?

Hackettstown, New Jersey never had it so good.  

          This week I met for dinner with a newly-formed gathering of mystery writers of Western Massachusetts where I found myself becoming uncharacteristically quiet, surrounded as I was by writers much more accomplished than myself. “Unpublished” felt as though it was tattooed across my forehead.

Among those in attendance –

Lisa – cultural and intellectual historian, author of at least six books, subject of

          several interviews on National Public Radio, and absurdly pleasant and

          self-effacing. 

Lee – former television writer and producer (Edgar Award for best television

          teleplay, author of several fiction and non-fiction books.

Glenn –author of 15 mysteries, professor of philosophy

Ray – our organizer and representative from the Boston branch of Mystery

 Writers of America, author of God-knows how many Boston-based

 mysteries, winner of this award and that award. Also absurdly pleasant and self-effacing.

          I just tried not to use double negatives and pick my teeth. My degrees, years of teaching English, and 2 ½ (mediocre) books were mere foothills to their Mt. Everests. Still, it was helpful to be surrounded by writers and be reminded that this was something I enjoyed and should stop neglecting. And my pasta was excellent.

Commerce

          The past two days have been exercises in optimism that didn’t always connect with reality.

Righting my writing wrongs

           One of those refreshing things about retirement is that now you can just enjoy learning for learning’s sake.

Writer's Crush

          There I was a couple of years ago, waiting for our small town’s Cultural Council meeting to get started.

Out of the Ether

          My mother always kept our loose photographs in a Whitman’s Sampler box. We usually had an empty one available each year, either from Christmas or Valentine’s day. It was a good choice, sturdy with a hinged lid, and with the added bonus of the aroma of past chocolates. 

Neither Rain nor Sleet nor Email

       This morning I was supposed to be paying attention, but I had chosen a seat facing the big picture window that looked out onto the parking lot.

The Big Leagues

     You would think that with retirement life would get easier, but I’m still doing things that scare me. Case in point, Wednesday night. A couple of weeks earlier I’d received a phone call out of the blue from a man I’d never heard of.

Tuesday

     

     I’ve been looking forward to the emptiness of today.

Have Pen Will Travel

     I may have found a new venue for writing.

All I've gotta do is act naturally

Click here for Ringo singing "Act Naturally"

Yesterday evening my stomach had the same ominous chunk of lead that settles there before I go to the dentist. That might as well have been my destination; there I was brushing my teeth, looking for spinach (pretty tricky since dinner had been sandwiches), and then flossing.

Beach Read

Here we are in the last official month of the summer. Since I'm at the beach myself, it seems only fair that I provide you with some beach reading of your own.

In between my other posts, I'll be popping in a few excerpts from my book, Earthly Needs. 
(There's a link to Amazon oh-so conveniently located to the right of this page.)

Fangirl

Starts and Stops

I’m leaving in an hour for my first real golf game of the season – although I’ll be surprised if my friends and I make it past nines holes. The course we play closely resembles a stroll up Lombard Street in San Francisco. We arrive at a couple of the holes (after climbing rises so steep that we must push our carts ahead of us with arms practically over our heads)  so winded that there’s actually a pause in the conversation.

          Two years ago I decided that as a new retiree the next logical step was to take up golf. My game is pretty much unchanged from the first time I ever put a tee in the ground but I’ve gained two new friends and adventures that included New York’s Russian Tea Room; Boynton Beach, Florida; and a road trip to Venice, Florida.

          Yesterday I “graduated” from a writing workshop I’ve been attending for the past two years. I began unsure of what I was doing there other than scouting for something else to fill my new-found retirement freedom. I met some more new friends there and I’ve now settled comfortably into the blog world, not to mention starting my third book. I’d say that venture was a success.

         

          The latest news is that my first book, Earthly Needs is now available at Amazon in paperback. If War and Peace seems a bit too heavy to manage at the beach, this may be just the thing.