This was a truly successful family vacation. Turkey sandwiches eaten, turkey soup provided and enjoyed, leftovers taken care of, about 80% gone. It seems that things run especially smoothly when we can spread ourselves amongst three houses. Fiona was showered in love. Everyone had space to opt out of the chaos when they wished. Cooperative living practices prevailed! Tessa tried on her wedding dress for several of us, eliciting tears from her dad, who was busy holding his granddaughter. So many things happening. Later, J and I enjoyed a walk around Mackworth Island with the new parents and Fiona. I love to see that little face with sun shining on it, even briefly. Mostly she was safely wrapped inside Mike’s warm coat to protect her from the icy wind. Departures began on Friday and continued throughout today, with Jonathan and I as the last holdouts. It is a slow trickle away, each of us poised to return to the balance point of daily life. For now, life has wrapped us inside its warm coat, protecting us with a layer of love that should last at least until the next time we’re together. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 95: 192 words, TOTAL = 16,056; 43,944 remaining
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I was worried that this latest Barbara Kingsolver book would leave me flat, but she came through in the clutch. Unsheltered, published in 2018, explores contemporary pangs and challenges of US society through a vivid, powerful, poignant pair of stories. The first half felt slow; I kept waiting for something interesting to happen. But the last third of the book thoroughly absorbed me. Part of that was personal resonance. One central character has a new grandchild, an aging in-law, a geriatric dog, and two grown children who inspire pointed reflection into her personal, marital, and parental past. Spending yesterday with my new grandchild, my aging in-law, and all of my grown children gave the book’s characters and situations powerful immediacy. To add to the personal resonance, the same protagonist is a writer who gets absorbed by explorations into the life of a woman from the past who (maybe) used to live in her old home. Once her two stories accelerated towards colliding within themselves and with each other, I found it hard to put the book down. Kingsolver is insightful and passionate. Through her characters, I found myself questioning my values, the things I cling to, and our current political and environmental descent from our catastrophic, Edenic ignorance. Anyway – in the end, I strongly recommend it. Important food for thought for anyone alive today, but particularly for anyone close to the Boomer generation. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 94: 233 words, TOTAL = 15,864; 44,136 remaining Grace and Thanksgiving - November 2019 (adapted by RCW from “Grace for An Atheist’s Thanksgiving” by Hemant Mehta) We pause to remember those who cannot be with us today and those who live more in famine than in feast. May our eyes be open to the beauty of our fragile planet and the goodness in our fellow humans. May our good fortune overshadow our troubles, even as it casts light on the struggles of others For this food, We give thanks. For the sun, moon, and earth; for the farmers and cooks, We give thanks. For the time to gather, and the leisure to sit, and the spirit to celebrate, We give thanks. For the gift of giving and the grace of receiving, We give thanks For___________ [speaker of the prayer names person to right, who says “and for ___________,” naming person to the right, and so on, till back to speaker.] Then finish with: For family and friends, We give thanks. For life’s bounty and wonder, and the opportunity to share it, We give thanks. So, in gratitude, we share this lovely feast! Amen. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 93: 185 words, TOTAL = 15,631; 44,369 remaining My four kids, my kids-in-law (one kid-in-love), my grandbaby, even 3 out of my four granddogs - as soon as Jonathan gets down here after work today, my hugging arms will have all they need. Plus they’ll have a bunch of bonus family and friends to hold. I must say, though, Fiona, the weight of your tiny bundle of warm life fills them like nothing else right now. It’s another glorious morning of angled sunlight, casting vivid, elongated shadows. Tree branches twist up the stone wall of a neighborhood church and reach across the roof. Soft morning light highlights passing car windows and the warm woods of clapboard dormers. How many others are in all those New Englandy homes around me, embracing people they love, newly arrived, newly returned, come from so many kinds of away? My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 92: 135 words, TOTAL = 15,446; 44,554 remaining Today marks ¼ of the daily blog year completed! It hasn’t always been easy, but there are a few gems that I am especially happy to have recorded. That reminds me of my sunrise year. I had to trudge out there all of the drear mornings in order to ensure that I’d be present for those exquisite, rare, breathtaking dawns. To celebrate my one-fourth of a year, I’ll highlight four of nature’s random gifts: a spray of red berries on a sunshiny autumn morning; an H-shaped patch of frosted grass, created in the shadow of a split rail fence; two chickadees, sharply dressed, singing and flittering around the bare branches of a tree; geometric frost patterns, glittering on pond ice. If we ever lack for design ideas, there are infinite inspirations right outside. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 91: 133 words, TOTAL = 15,311; 44,689 remaining I really wanted to use the word higgledy-piggledy to describe this bridge... After last night’s downpour, the waterways surrounding our 13-acre property are all a-roar. Reeds Brook, down the steep gully at the back of the field, is doing a good imitation of a spring torrent after ice-out. Even the little rivulet that tumbles down the south side, the outflow from the pond, is making a merry rush as it hurries under our higgledy-piggledy, moss-covered, half-collapsed bridge. These water songs are not sounds of winter, a brief reprieve. The external rushing reflects my interior. On the threshold of Thanksgiving, a gathering of seventeen, I’m escalating into a familiar state of high intensity, like a tornado in the gut – rushing, rushing to ensure that all are things and people are arranged and accounted for. What have I forgotten? What am I not thinking of? But wait…I’m not hosting. For the first time, Jonathan and I will be guests at the home of one of our children for the Thanksgiving feast. Nevertheless, old habits die hard. I have pre-bedlam anxiety. With baby Fiona thrown into the equation, this will be a major feat of logistical and emotional management. As my friend Jean would say, just breathe. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 90: 192 words, TOTAL = 15,178; 44,822 remaining One of my favorite children’s book series to read to my kids was Henry and Mudge, by Cynthia Rylant. Henry is a boy; Mudge is his enormous, slobbery, dog companion. Wikipedia tells me that there are 28 books in the series, but I’m only familiar with the first 18 or so, which makes sense, since my youngest was outgrowing Henry and Mudge by the time the rest came along. I have a distinct memory of one chapter in Henry and Mudge and the Long Weekend, titled, “Wet Yuck.” I thought of it today, a drizzly downpour between rain and snow. Wet dogs, muddy footprints, but a great day for indoor cozies. Reading to my kids was one of my favorite parent activities. I already feel a mounting excitement at the thought of sharing so many old favorites with a new little person. A young parent friend of mine said, “You’ll get to know all the new Disney movies now!” And just today, I emailed Nellie the lyrics to 18 songs I used to sing with the kids, at her request. I feel like a kid in a candy shop. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 89: 189 words, TOTAL = 14,986; 45,014 remaining It’s Saturday night. Jonathan’s on call, but made it home with some daylight left to saw logs and split wood. He came in after dark, jacket redolent of the outdoors - chain saw exhaust, split oak, warm body heat – and draped his jacket over a chair. I made a big pot of cabbage and veggie soup and opened a bottle of wine. Last summer, I called the Napa Valley vineyard that my dad bought all his wine from. I missed him. I missed sipping his lovely wines in his condo, entertained by his cheery welcome, his ridiculous puns, his philosophizing, his crackling wood fire and Mantovani music. So I bought a case of his favorite wines, and they told me, “You can customize your labels when you buy a case.” I put his initials on every bottle, so I think of him every time I open a bottle of wine and sit by the crackling fire, with my two old dogs and my sweet smelling husband. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 88: 166 words, TOTAL = 14,797; 45,203 remaining My grandmother holding my mom. George Ella Lyon wrote a poem called “Where I’m From.” It has evolved into a popular writing exercise. You begin with, “I am from…” and add descriptive elements to define your essence. I am from my parents and my grandparents…refinement, old school, dark mahogany woodwork, white privilege, country clubs, half grapefruits with a cherry, silver salt spoons, winter on white sand beaches, stupid puns, kickball in the backyard, singing in the car. What about the counter direction? I am also a passage to my children and grandchildren – anti-capitalism, naked parties, marriage equality, a warming planet, memes, social media, backyard chickens, women in medicine, piano technology, getting “woke,” ultimate Frisbee, Fiona’s world…? Each in-between generation sits in this position. Here I am, deeply connected to generations separated by 119 years. They are worlds apart, but they merge inside of me - my grandparents’ world that I remember so fondly, my granddaughter’s world that I plunge into, arms outstretched, welcoming. What will I learn from you? My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 87: 164 words, TOTAL = 14,631; 45,369 remaining The faint, thickened feeling in my throat yesterday bloomed into a full-bore head cold. I looked through the pantry for chicken soup and found none, so I made up my own. Chicken* potato whatever’s-around soup (*The only chicken is in the bouillon – easily made vegetarian) 1. Slice up 1 onion, 5 small-med. potatoes (cut to bite size), 2 stalks of celery, 3-4 carrots (too floppy for snacking), and a jalapeno (old and wrinkly, back of the fridge – okay!). 2. Heat a heavy-bottomed Dutch oven. Add 3Tbs. olive oil. Sauté onion ~5mins. 3. Add 3Tbs. butter to pot. Throw in chopped veggies, plus ¾ cup of frozen corn. Stir to coat, sauté ~10mins. 4. Add 4 cups water and 4tsps. of bouillon (I like “Better Than Bouillon” seasoned roasted chicken flavor.) 5. Run out to herb garden and snip a generous handful of frozen parsley and 2 stalks of rosemary (at least I think it’s rosemary…it smells good). Pick out dead leaves, rinse, de-stem. Chop fine. Throw in soup, which is already starting to boil. Add a lot of ground pepper too (no salt! There’s enough in the bouillon). 6. Cover and simmer another ~15-20mins. Sip a cup of tea until potatoes are tender. 7. Run an immersion blender in the pot until soup thickens, but there’s still a lot of chunks left. Delicious! And good for what ails you. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 86: 229 words, TOTAL = 14,467; 45,533 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
October 2024
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