 I spoke with my copyeditor today (Molly Lindley Pisani, five stars!), who knows that I’m on Grandma duty this week and next. “So you will get zero work done these weeks,” she said, calculating our timeline. A young mom herself, she said, all business, “When someone’s on childcare duty, my assumption is no other work at all.” That made me feel a little better about low book productivity this week. I can entertain Fiona folding laundry or doing dishes, but Grandma sitting at a computer or on the phone is not remotely interesting. Nevertheless, it’s been an exciting few days. I’ve chosen a book cover and a publicist, and I had a wonderfully helpful legal consultation that reassured me that I’m on the right track with my ideas about permissions and copyrights. Plus I’ve had walks with my granddaughter, gave her a sink bath, sang to her, delighted in her tuneful (and squawking) replies, and elicited something close to little belly laughs today. Also – those little socks! My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 198: 167 words, TOTAL = 32,407; 27,593 remaining
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 Baby care at 59 is entirely different from baby care at 31, my age when my fourth child was born. My back hurts. I’m stupid with fatigue. Nellie and Mike are both working nights this week, so I’m here to help with Fiona. Unaccustomed to night feedings and early mornings, I’ve collapsed into afternoon naps between Nellie and Mike’s waking and their departure for work. There’s someone sleeping pretty much all the time in this house. Still, Fiona’s big-eyed smiles and daily discoveries counterbalance all challenges…as long as I get my nap. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 197: 92 words, TOTAL = 32,240; 27,760 remaining  At 5:20am, lying in bed, listening to Fiona’s sleep movements for signs of waking, I heard a jet take off nearby. “That’s probably Anna,” I thought, on her flight back to Michigan. I focused on her aircraft in my mind, surrounded it with white light. Safe travels, my love, my firstborn daughter.
Anna spent her birthday weekend back east, with sisters, brothers-in-law, parents, and especially her niece Fiona, a fellow firstborn daughter. “Did you always love Anna the most because she was your firstborn?” asked Nellie over our celebratory brunch. A playful question, but I get it. I imagine her love for four-month-old Fiona is so all-powerful, all-consuming, boundless; it’s unimaginable that anyone could match it. I remember that worry when I was contemplating a second pregnancy. They say the uterus has extraordinary powers of expansion, but the heart exceeds it (the figurative one). You think there couldn’t possibly be room for more love in there, but each child finds its chamber in the infinite love chambers of the heart. Love’s lifespan is unlimited too, whether your firstborn is just learning to roll over or she’s 33, carried into the sky at 5 in the morning, headed away home. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 196: 199 words, TOTAL = 32,148; 27,852 remaining  We played a new game last night. You think of anything that fits the category of “the best thing in the world.” Everyone writes their “best things” on squares of paper and you mix them in a bowl. Then you pick two at a time and create a bracket – like a tournament bracket, 16 or 32 contenders. After you’ve filled out the outside entries, the group votes between each pair. If there’s not a strong majority, you caucus for a while to see if you can come to greater consensus, or even unanimity if possible. Eventually you get to a final winner. The discussions are entertaining – how do you debate “summer strawberries” against “laughing babies?” “pizza” vs. “wisdom?” In fact, the discussion part is the fun, mostly because you’re focusing on things that make people super happy. All night, other ideas for “best things” swirled around my brain. Makes for good sleeping. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 195: 152 words, TOTAL = 31,949; 28,051 remaining  I can’t even see a mark where Jonathan stitched up my finger a couple of weeks ago. Since then I jabbed another uber-sharp Cutco knife into the meat of my thenar eminence (one of my favorite anatomical names. Sounds like an evil character from Star Wars…). Both wounds have miraculously disappeared.
When I was a kid, my parents told me that “Red Man” was responsible for healing anything wrong inside my body. They made it sound exciting, this superhero, the color of my coursing blood, who fought illness and wove wounded skin back together again. Healing has always felt magical to me. How does Red Man do it? Grief gets healed too. Here are my parents, happy and young, and I can look at them now with much less heart pain. I can focus more on the joy. Red Man again? You fear grief will never heal, but ruptures in your heart and soul get better, just like ruptures in the shell of your body. Just takes more time. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 194: 169 words, TOTAL = 31,797; 28,203 remaining  Yesterday Clara was 20 minutes late for breakfast, unheard of. Kate stuck with me since her protective programming overrides all, but she was sorely tempted to stray. 85% of the back fields have been exposed rapidly over the last few days of rain and thaw. As a result, a smorgasbord of smells has exploded from the earth. Of course I can’t smell anything, but clearly it’s dazzling for dogs. A human equivalent must be the visual stimulation of Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Every time I try to catch a dog’s attention, they start toward me, then veer wildly to the left or right, nose to the ground, caught by the siren song of yet another scent trail. They stop at a hummock of grass, bury a nose deep within, snuffling, scratching with an exploratory paw, occasionally followed by consumption of god knows what – rotted vole? Deer poop? Fermented apples? Best not to look too closely. I sheepishly wonder if this is me on the internet – constantly distracted, following random trails, consuming a lot of crap. Might be worse than eating deer poop. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 193: 184 words, TOTAL = 31,628; 29,372 remaining  This was not one of She Writes Press's stock photos; this is the real Sutton Island. But their collection had a lot of gems! Out from this week’s gloomy morass of copyright law, out from the relentless fog of unedited endnotes, two bursts of sunshine broke through. I have my final title for Rachel Field’s biography! Title selection was a process that involved letting go of all my initial ideas – so many exercises in adaptation, this book production thing. This landing place makes me happy: The Field House A Writer’s Life Lost and Found on an Island in Maine The simplicity of the title feels good to me. Our Sutton Island home has been called The Field House for 60 years or more, in honor of Rachel Field’s years of residency. I also like the layered meanings of the subtitle. My mission in writing the book was to reclaim Rachel’s life from obscurity, but interwoven in Rachel’s story is my own found life as a writer. The second burst of sunshine came in an email from my publisher - 38 gorgeous images of Maine’s coast for me to consider for the book’s cover design. Jonathan and I had fun picking a bunch of favorites. I’m excited to see how the design team puts it all together. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 192: 192 words, TOTAL = 31,434; 28,566 remaining  The snow is low
And starting to slow; The temperature’s rising so flowers will grow. March forth! March forth! Old winter is heading back north! My face is pale, And my muscles are frail; Been biding in hiding – a somnolent snail. March forth! March forth! Old winter is heading back north! Rise up from bed; Put awake in your head; The birds are a’singing; the cardinals are red. March forth! March forth! Old winter is heading back north! Let’s play today And shout a hooray, A spring in your step as you whistle away. March forth! March forth! Old winter is heading back north! The skies are fair; There’s hope in the air; We’ll tackle our troubles with nary a care. March forth! March forth! Old winter is heading back north! (To anyone living in temperate zones south of the equator: apologies for this hemisphere-centric poem) My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 191: 146 words, TOTAL = 31,242; 28,758 remaining On Youtube yesterday, I heard Tara Westover sing “How Great Thou Art” to 20,000 people after she gave a commencement speech in 2019. She’s the author of the haunting memoir, Educated, that I wrote about a few days ago. Tara’s voice was a crucial tool that helped carry her out of isolation and towards escape from a destructive household. Her angelic voice was powerful enough to convince her dad to let her sing in public. He was transported – as was everyone who heard the recording at book group yesterday. The magic of song. Check this out: Westoversinging Humans have no monopoly on the transformative magic of song. Birdsong is March’s soundtrack. They’re out there every morning now, singing winter away with vitality, especially the cardinals. You can’t help but feel, immersed in their orchestral improvisations, stirrings of hope, life, growth, warmth, procreation. This guy got shy when I pulled out my camera, but his red brilliance shone in the morning sun, even when he was quiet. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 190: 166 words, TOTAL = 31,096; 28,904 remaining  Heavy winds over the last week sent me a message. Time to take down the holiday greenery…well, brownery. If you don’t do it, said the March wind, I’ll take care of it for you. By this time of year, my winter-burrowing ways are under the gentle siege of dawn’s earlier breaking and evening’s lingering light. March still has plenty of snow in store, but it doesn’t have the staying power of January-February snowfall. There’s a kind of promise in the March wind. It says, wake up, life is coming back around. Sometimes I wonder how many more Marches I have ahead of me. I hope a lot, but it’s weird to know without a doubt that I’m more than halfway done with my Marches. Best to make the most of each one. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 189: 132 words, TOTAL = 30,930; 29,070 remaining |
AuthorRobin Clifford Wood is an award-winning author, poet, and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her children, grandchildren, and granddogs. Archives
August 2026
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