Two nights ago I finally did what I had been avoiding for months: I looked for a blogging friend’s obituary. The sad news is I found it. Some of you might know Nancy Jo Anderson aka Zazamataz on WordPress. Her blog is still up at zazamataz.wordpress.com, but she has not posted since December 11, 2024.
According to her obituary, Nancy died on March 14, 2025. She was only 62. Nancy was open about her illness. In her post of April 24, 2024 (“I’m back. Again.”), she explained that she had both COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease) and CHF (chronic heart failure). My oldest sister Charlotte had both of these conditions, and it was the COPD that killed her. I imagine it was the same with Nancy.
I hadn’t known Nancy for long. I “met” her through Ally Bean’s blog The Spectacled Bean, and quickly came to cherish her friendship, her stories, her humor, her openness. She didn’t shy away from writing about being sad and depressed, her struggles to get proper care, and her many “visits” to the hospital.
Her humor was a gift. She would write about her hospital stays with such comedy that I’d often laugh out loud, forgetting for those moments the fear and pain she most likely felt while it was happening.
And she was generous. In May 2023, she organized the “the great moose giveaway.” It was a clever way to clear out her house and send out a little love to the world. I was game for anything that involved yarn (naturally). But what I got from Nancy was so spot-on, I was speechless when I saw it.
This ceramic bluebird is more precious to me than anything else Nancy could have sent me. I have it sitting on a desk next to the loveseat where I usually have my morning tea. Seeing the bluebird, remembering Nancy, is a nice way to start my day.
I could have “looked for” Nancy long before Saturday night. I thought of it often, but sometimes you don’t want to confirm what you already know.
Although she’s physically gone, I hope some of you might visit her blog. Her spirit lives on in her writing and in each of us whose lives she touched.
I was going to do a “Macro Monday” but the photo below isn’t a macro and there’s story behind it anyway.
What you see here is a baby bluebird. A live one, fortunately.
A bluebird chick in the hand.
First, some context: a few months ago we set up a bluebird box in our front yard. Well, it’s on the other side of our driveway, a narrow stretch that is bordered street side with azaleas and our 8-foot fence opposite the street. Apparently, it’s a good spot because a pair of bluebirds have moved in and started their SECOND clutch a couple of weeks ago. We’ve never saw the first clutch of bluebirds, but during the first and with this second, we’ve enjoyed seeing Ma and Pa Bluebird take turns bringing juicy worms to the box.
Today, when I arrived home after attending a yoga class and grocery shopping, my husband came out to help me with my loot.
Then he saw the tail end of a gray rat snake hanging from the opening in the box. He quickly went into action.
He grabbed the tail but the snake wouldn’t budge. Nothing to be done but pull up the box (it’s attached to a long pole) and see if we can get the snake out.
SNAKE WARNING: the next photo shows the snake.
Gray rat snake in a bluebird box, with a bluebird chick.
Son of a b———. We could see the snake had a grip on a chick. My husband upended the box and the snake and two chicks fell out.
The snake wasted no time in slithering away. It was obvious one chick was dead, probably smothered, but the other one (see photo above) was alive.
Then, when we righted the box, we discovered two other (alive) chicks!
I slipped the chick back into the box, we placed the pole back in the ground, and then my husband put an apron-like baffler around the pole.
We already had a squirrel baffler on the pole and thought that would be enough to deter snakes. We thought wrong.
Here’s hoping that Ma and Pa Bluebird recommence with feeding their youngun’.
Meanwhile …
Wendy is doing quite well. Two weeks now with no vomiting or diarrhea. We started her on a special diet, for now mixing it with regular food, and she’s been licking her bowl clean. The last drug she’ll come off is Cerenia, for nausea. She’ll stay on PredisOLONE for life.
We have three more B12 shot appointments, but those are in-and-out, no waiting around for the vet.
I don’t know where you are right now. I don’t believe in Heaven or Hell, but if there’s a Heaven, then I imagine …
You sitting at a picture window, in front of a card table where a spread of 1,000 puzzle pieces wait for your attention which is distracted by the Baltimore Orioles and Cardinals and Bluebirds also vying for your attention outside your window.
Your oldest daughter Charlotte is watching TV which is permanently set to daytime soaps, the ones you and she would discuss on the phone when she lived in Florida and you in New York. She sits in her blue leather recliner, offering running commentary that you only half listen to.
Your other daughter Shirley is flipping through Amway receipts while she recites the latest accolades of her grandchildren. During commercial breaks she’ll pick up a James Patterson novel and read a bit. She sits in her chair, a facsimile of the recliner she left behind, the shawl I knitted for her draped over the back.
You watch your birds, piece together your puzzle, and maybe listen to your daughters. You don’t have to hear every word. It’s enough to have them near you.
Maybe you’re waiting for one of your siblings to drop by. Maybe Beatrice who was the first to go, or Alice who was the last before you. Maybe your brothers Virgil, Ed, Bob, or Leon will show up, or Mildred, Edith, or Leona. It’s been so long since you had seen your siblings. And you wonder about the last two–Howard and Orvetta. You want them to be well until it’s their time and then … no pain, no pain.
You miss berry picking and going to the casino, but then your daughters might take you when you’re in the mood. In this version of Heaven, Shirley does not have Parkinson’s and Charlotte can breathe easily on her own.
After your daughters–your girls–died, you missed them so much that you were relieved to miss your 100th birthday. You got close, very close. But the pull of your girls was too strong, the loss of them too much to continue to bear.
People ask me why your last two children–me and your son–weren’t enough to keep you going. Why did you openly lament the loss of your girls as if they were the only children you had?
They were the only children you had for eight years. You were in your twenties then. By the time your son and I came along, unexpectedly, you were nearly middle-aged with a sick husband and decades of hard and poorly paid work ahead of you.
I want to believe that those first eight years, when it was just you, my dad and your girls, were happy years. Maybe, when your girls died, that was the loss you felt most keenly. They were no longer around to remind you of that time.
No child should die before their parents. No parent should experience the death of their child.
I know you loved me as best as you could. I loved you as best as I could. Yes, I could have been a better daughter. My efforts paled compared to my sisters. Yes, you could have been a better mother. Hindsight is 20-20. There’s regret on both sides, but no point in it.
You were never one for regrets. You didn’t like to look back, and you didn’t pay much mind to the future. From you, I’m learning to live in the moment. That may be your greatest gift to me.
I’ve only missed one day of writing in the last 24 days, a streak I haven’t had in a very long time. My writing has been quite inconsistent, though. At first, I firmly adhered to writing per the five-things essay promoted by Summer Brennan as such:
It does not have to have five paragraphs or five topics. The number five functions more like five little shoves to keep you thinking, to keep your pen moving across the page or your fingers on the keyboard.
(For more on this, read Summer’s description of the Five Things Essay here: The Five Things Essay.)
Initially, I wrote about five distinct things (writing, walking, friendship, family, weaving). Then, occasionally, I’d start with one thing and let it flow into another thing (for example, reflecting about friendships could lead me to also write about loneliness). More recently, my writing turned into talk therapy as I used it to vent and analyze. Even more recently, I started “cheating,” using the five things prompt to read and comment on blog posts, with my comments being the “five things.” This way I can keep up (more or less) with reading blogs as well as fulfill my daily writing assignment.
I’m not sure where this is going to lead me. I firmly believe that any writing is writing that counts, whether the words are for a novel, a blog post, a poem, or a list. Comments on blog posts counts, at least to me, because I always reread what I wrote before I hit send and often edit as well. I don’t want to be misunderstood.
Today, I am going to write my five things here.
Weaving
I recently finished weaving and sewing together 16 potholders to make a tripod mat for my husband. He wants to be able to view the night sky with his telescope out on our patio, but was worried about slippery fingers and dropping lenses down to the hard stones. Hence, this thick cotton mat which fits neatly under the tripod.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
For the four center pieces, I used the pattern Shadow Fern by Deborah Jean Cohen (from her book In the Loop: Radical Potholder Patterns & Techniques, p. 100). The rest of the squares were simple stripes or plain weave. Loops are flax, leaf and autumn from Friendly Looms. In the photo of the full mat, you can see a mistake I made when sewing the squares together. One of the corner squares has its stripes going horizontally instead of vertically. My husband, ever resourceful, said that square will represent North.
Sunsets
Before we set the clocks back an hour, my husband and I enjoyed long evenings on our patio, watching the light turn golden before heading back into our house for dinner. Now it’s a bit of a scramble as I like to prep for dinner ahead of time, before we relax on the patio. One evening I was running late. I was in the middle of prepping for dinner when my husband remarked that it looked like we might have a nice sunset. I thought I would shrug it off (surely, there’ll be more sunsets to enjoy) until he said, “Honey, you have to see this!” As quickly as possible, I put everything in the frig or the microwave for safe keeping (i.e., away from Wendy and Raji) and hurried outside only to have to run back inside to get my phone. He was right. I had to see this.
Sunset over our neighbor’s roof.
Life
One of the joys of having a garden is seeing life bloom. We’ve had some warm days, and the long-winged zebra butterflies have been busy laying eggs. Now we have larvae on our passion vine which will eventually yield more butterflies.
You have to look closely for the larvae. They are there.
Flowers
Actually this could fit under Life, but I’m trying to write five things so … This lovely red Gerbera flower is from a plant that I bought a few years ago. I used to keep it on our deck but everytime it bloomed, a squirrel would decapitate the flower. I was going to give up on it when my husband suggested putting it on the patio. After several months there, it has started to bloom again. And, so far, no squirrels have attempted to make off with the flower.
Red Gerbera daisy
Cats
A few weeks ago, our neighbors had a guest who liked to park their car directly across from our driveway. So it didn’t take long before I noticed some unusual but delightful stencils on the passenger and driver-side windows.
Who are you looking at?
Peeky boo!
I’d love to get these for my car!
Thank you for reading. To those of you who celebrate Thanksgiving, I hope you had a wonderful holiday. To the rest of you, I hope you had a wonderful Thursday.
Folks, I am so tired of feeling depressed and listless. I know I’ll continue to feel sad, at some times more than others, but I want to pick up my life again. So, of course, I’m going to start off with a bit of overdoing. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t overdo things.
Over on Substack, Summer Brennan will be hosting “Essay Camp,” five days of prompts and readings and general encouragement to write every day for five days. You can get more info from her post here: https://www.awritersnotebook.org/p/essay-camp-a-november-write-along. It’s free to join. I’ve tried participating in other essay camps that Summer has hosted, but Life would always get in the way. My fingers are crossed that this time no life-changing, trauma-inducing events will occur; that is, not within my personal life. I’ve given up on the world outside my fence.
Of course, November 1 is also the start of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo to those who have participated before). I won’t be writing a novel. I’ll be writing essays or maybe memoir-like bits. I plan to use NaNoWriMo to track my writing in Essay Camp and beyond. It’s not relevant or important that I write 50,000 words. I’ll be happy with whatever I have to show for myself by the end of the month.
Meanwhile …
I am so loving this plant that sits outside my window.
It’s called Cat Whiskers so you know why I had to buy it from a local nursery. (For you gardeners out there, the scientific name is Orthosiphon aristatus). At the time I bought it, I wasn’t aware that its flowers would attract hummingbirds and butterflies. In truth, I’ve only seen a hummingbird occasionally check out the flowers, but I LOVE the flowers. And, turns out that Cat Whiskers blooms in April and October. I was really surprised (and thrilled) to see so many blooms this month.
Another favorite is this Indian Blanket (Gailardia pulchella).
The first time I saw an Indian Blanket plant was at St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge. A small cluster was nestled alongside the trail I was riding on. When I saw this joyful plant at another local nursery, I grabbed it.
Both of these plants would probably be happier in the ground, but they lift my heart when I look out my window on my writing days. I need them where I can see them.
Meanwhile …
The Zebra butterflies are still making whoopee on our Passion Flower vine. I had the pleasure of watching one very delicately lay a few eggs on a stem while another butterfly flitted about, no doubt giving her encouragement. My hands were full of gardening tools so I couldn’t take any photos then. Later, I managed to get this macro shot of several eggs.
Looks like we might have an explosion of Zebra butterflies before too long.
Finally … remember what I said about Life not getting in the way of my writing plans? Well, Wendy went off her food for about a day this weekend. (Why do they always do things like that on weekends?) We had no clue as to what was troubling her. She had seemed fine right up until she refused to eat.
Of course, I panicked, but Greg (my husband) stayed calm. (Like, what else could he do while I was having a meltdown?) We gave her time. Didn’t force anything on her. Monday she started eating again, just a little bit here and a little bit there. This morning (Tuesday) she had the zoomies with Raji and she ate most of her breakfast so I’m thinking she’s okay now.
Old photo … taken in late 2019, but she hasn’t changed a bit.
Thank you for reading! If you want to join me at NaNoWriMo, my username is MarieAnnBailey (natch).
My youngest, Raji, superimposed over a stony path. The only time he is outdoors is in his dreams.
Happy New Year, everyone, and here we all are once again. You might notice that I’ve made some changes to this blog. I’m not yet done. Perhaps I’ll never be done, but I needed a change, and I needed it before the new year started.
As many of you already know, the last six months of 2022 were rather hellish for me and my family. Both of my sisters died unexpectedly as well as two of my cousins. The last (so far) was my oldest sister who died the evening after Thanksgiving, leading me to take the rest of the year off, so to speak. I can’t say I’m “better” since just thinking about my sisters will bring tears to my eyes. But I might be adjusting. Maybe.
I know death is inevitable. I get that. I just thought that everyone had more time. My mother, after all, is 99 and still squeezing some quality out of her life. I am, however, in a perpetual state of alertness now: always anticipating that phone call; always hoping, when I call her and her phone rings and rings and rings, that she’s just in the bathroom.
Well, there was that time recently when her phone rang and rang and rang because she had mistaken her TV remote for her phone. That gave us a good laugh.
When I ask her how she feels and she responds, “With my hands,” I can’t help but feel she’s got a lot more time ahead of her.
Meanwhile.
I have no resolutions for this year. I don’t believe in resolutions anymore. Too much pressure especially since I usually don’t do what I’ll say I’ll do and I often do what I say I won’t do.
I guess you could say I’ve resolved to have no resolutions, but I am lining up a few things to bring myself back to writing and to the social world I’ve been neglecting.
First, I’m cleaning up my blog, much like cleaning my house when I’m expecting guests.
Second, I’ve resubscribed to SmokeLong Fitness to get myself back into the writing groove. Yes, I still have my novel to work on, but it seems like a kind of punishment to focus only on that … at least right now.
Third, I’ve signed up for a Yoga Fundamentals Workshop at my local yoga studio. Four Saturdays where we will do a deep dive into the basics of yoga. I’ve been practicing yoga for over ten years but never really thought much about the science behind the poses. Plus, the instructor is an awesome woman who brings joy and humor to my practice. One can never laugh too much.
Last but never least, I’m also knitting. Knitting grounds me more than anything else I do.
We have a lot going on around our house … literally. Just recently we had a hardscaper install a patio and walkway on the west side of our house. The crew started work before Christmas and finished on December 30. Next, we’ll have a fence put up, making our patio private and our next-door neighbors happy. (Apparently, they don’t like seeing into our yard any more than we like seeing into theirs.) Roughly about the same time, we’ll have work done inside our house: replacement of hallway floorboards damaged by water from a leaky valve, and new tiles in our foyer. After that, we’ll take a breather and give our checkbook a rest.
So good things are still happening. I just have to make them happen. Hence, this post.
Happy New Year!
So tell me, dear Readers, what are your resolutions, if any, for this new year? And what, of all the things you do, grounds you the most? Please share in the comments, and thank you for reading!
I usually go walking and that helps to a point. I am still grieving for Maxine. I guess that’s no surprise, but I didn’t expect to fall into a depression, one that I’m still trying to climb my way out of. Although it’s not fair to use my husband as a therapist, I’ve been doing that and it helps … to a point. He can’t fix my brain. Only I can do that.
I haven’t worked on my novel. I’ve only gotten as far as printing a revision and editing guidebook developed by the good folks at NaNoWriMo and signing up for a webinar with the awesome Allison Williams that is designed to help writers finish their book. Baby steps.
Further complicating my depression is some chronic achiness and weakness I’ve been having in my left shoulder and arm for a few weeks now. I finally got to see my chiropractor who sent me off for x-rays and told me to do cold/heat therapy as often as possible (20 minutes cold/20 minutes heat/40 minutes cold/40 minutes heat). A full round of therapy is two hours so I have to plan accordingly. The good news per the x-rays is that my nerves do not appear to be compressed. The bad news is my cervical osteoarthritis has worsened: more bone spurs, less cartilage. But, per my chiropractor, the deteriorating is “age-appropriate.” You know, no one ever used the phrase “age-appropriate” until after I turned 60. Just saying.
I go back to my chiropractor in a few days and, if all goes well (meaning the cold/hot therapy works), then I won’t need further treatment. If not, then he’ll refer me to a spinal orthopedist who will probably want to do an MRI which I do not want to do because I am claustrophic. I don’t care if they give you drugs to relax you. Just the thought of my head being in a small space is enough to send me into hysterics.
In the meantime, no yoga, no lifting with my left arm. But at least I can walk!
I am trying to get into the habit of going for a walk first thing in the morning, weather permitting. I used to do that but fell out of the habit some months ago. So far I’ve walked three mornings in a row, and it’s getting easier. I take my hot tea with me and that’s really kind of nice. I can’t drink and walk at the same time. I don’t have that kind of equilibrium, so I have to stop when I want to take a sip. I enjoy those moments, especially when there’s a hawk nearby to observe.
In the photo above, you should see a very small dark spot atop a branch in roughly the center of the photo. That’s a hawk.
The clouds were so interesting that morning. I would have enjoyed looking up at them all day if it weren’t for the literal pain in my neck.
Walking is therapeutic. While I sort out life without Maxine, I’ll keep walking. While I avoid working on my novel, I’ll keep walking.
Another year begins and not a moment too soon. I say “Good Riddance” to 2021. Yet another year of angst amongst preventable and unpreventable tragedy. I don’t have great hope for 2022 being a better year. I’m just hoping it won’t be worse. I’ll be doing my part to stay positive, to live in the moment, and to cherish each moment.
Thank you to everyone who offered condolences in the wake of Maxine’s crossing over the Rainbow Bridge.
Maxine (RIP).
These last few weeks have been rough, the house so quiet, feeling empty even with our remaining three feline friends. And yet … Life goes on. Junior, Wendy, and Raji need demand attention.
Junior stills insists on a lap in the evenings when we sit on the small sofa, where we enjoy a glass of wine before dinner or hot chamomile tea before bedtime.
Junior, always on the alert.
In the mornings, I get up an hour or so before my husband, starting my day quietly with a large mug of hot tea (lately, it’s been Earl Grey). Usually, Raji would stretch out on the large sofa at the far side of our living room, but he’s started a new habit: curling up on a pillow beside me.
Raji taking his morning nap.
What’s not to love about this face! How can either of us be sad for long when you have this guy looking at you every day?
“I’m so cute! Gotta love me!”
In the photo above, Raji is on Wendy’s fleecy blanket, the same fleecy blanket I brought her home in eight and a-half years ago. While Raji and Junior have established a relationship, Wendy and Raji are still working on theirs. They chase each other around the house occasionally, although it’s hard to tell whether Wendy enjoys it. I do know she doesn’t like Raji on her blanket.
“Just what is THAT on MY blanket?”
“Well, maybe we can share. Maybe.”
“On second thought, no, I’m NOT sharing!”
These two were in motion, hence the blurry photo. Wendy pretty much had Raji cornered. He couldn’t get off the bed without her getting a good swipe at him. Oh, well. If it ever gets cold enough here in north Florida, they might find their way to a truce.
Speaking of it not being cold enough here in north Florida, everything is blooming. Magnolia trees, wildflowers, hibiscus, morning glories, you name it. I have a red penta that hasn’t stopped blooming for months. Our Oregon grape is bursting with yellow flowers and attracting bees.
See the bee dangling from a flower in the upper right quadrant of the photo?
In a New Yorker article (September 13, 2021), author Amia Srinivasan made this observation: “[…] the Internet, […] has simultaneously given us too much to read and corroded our capacity to read it.” The context was feminism and what we think we know about it, but her description of how the Internet has impacted reading applies far beyond her subject.
It’s something I struggle with every day. So much to read, especially online, but also on my Kindle and my bookshelves, the dining room table and the living room desk where magazines pile high. And yet I’m supposed to be writing.
I know I’ve been going through a stressful time. Which requires a couple of updates:
My sister’s cast was removed last week and she was fitted with a walking boot. She’s still at the facility, but she’s been having more good days lately than bad days. The facility change was definitely a good move. Still, the uncertainty as to when she’ll come home and what kind of help my brother-in-law will given as he continues care for her subdues my efforts to be positive. We all just keep saying, “One day at a time.”
Maxine, our feline dowager, has been more her old self lately. Spunky, willful, and talkative. She’s been handling our handling of the twice daily antibiotic injections and every-three-days subcutaneous fluids quite well. My husband has even been able to give her the antibiotic injection by himself, that is, without me having to hold her still. Unfortunately, she has “good” days and “bad” days: good days are when she limits her pee and poop output to a litter box or a potty training pad; bad days are when she and Junior get in a tussle and, in her excitement, she poops on the kitchen floor (this morning) or when she sits on the potty training pad but still pees on the floor (also this morning).
I’ve been working through my stress not by writing, but by gardening (healthy activity) and binging on a podcast call Casefile (maybe, maybe not healthy). If you enjoy true crime stories (is enjoy the right word?), check out Casefile by clicking here. A few things I like about the podcast:
The narrator is anonymous. He wants the audience to stay focused on the survivors and victims in these stories; however, his fans call him Casey.
The podcast has no dramatic reenactments, no roleplaying, no editorializing, no aimless, mindless banter. Casey narrates in a steady, calm voice. Occasionally he narrates dialogue, which can sometimes be humorous with his Australian accent.
I say no editorializing, but Casey’s empathy toward survivors and victims is real. At the beginning of each podcast, he cautions the listener in case the crime is of a particularly disturbing nature, such as crimes against children. For example, I chose to not listen to the episodes on The Moors Murders because Casey admitted he had to stop recording a couple of times because he was so disturbed by the abuse done to the children.
He has, on occasion, expressed frustration with law enforcement responses (or lack thereof) to violence against women. But he doesn’t rant, he doesn’t rail. He just points out when injustice is being served.
The episodes do not focus gratuitously on details of crimes. Casefile only shares what is necessary to understand the seriousness of a crime, which doesn’t require a second-by-second account of an assault or a murder.
The podcast often includes interviews, audio clips and other materials, providing a deeper context of the crime.
The effort Casey and his team put into their research and production is impressive. Links to their sources are provided with each episode.
My most recent binge from Casefile was several episodes on crimes committed by the The East Area Rapist, the Original Night Stalker, and the Golden State Killer in the late 70s to mid-80s who happen to all be one man–Joseph DeAngelo. The best episode was the last one where Casey read or played clips of survivors’ impact statements at DeAngelo’s sentencing hearing. It was the best episode because too often, justice is not found. In this case, it was. A little late, but that was due to the limitations of forensic testing at the time, the fact that DeAngelo was a former cop and knew how to avoid capture and identification, and lack of communication among the various law enforcement agencies involved.
Finally, if you write crime fiction, this podcast will teach you a lot about crime, the justice systems in the U.S. as well as other countries, and how law enforcement, even with truly dedicated officers, can be hampered in their efforts to find and bring the perpetrators to justice.
Now, what about my novel, which is about a murder?
I don’t consider myself a gardener really, but I might allow myself to wear the label of amateur gardener. I am thrilled when one of my plants starts to bloom. Why, hello there, Georgia Aster! I’m so grateful to have a fall-blooming plant.
Georgia Aster. Photo by Marie A Bailey.
My red penta is still going strong, and I’ve planted a lavender penta and a red-yellow lantana in the front yard. Fingers crossed that I can keep them safe during the winter. The following Ruellia or Mexican petunia was an impulse buy.
Ruellia simplex. Photo by Marie A Bailey.
We had gone to Home Depot to order a new dishwasher (a whole other story, but let me just say that we’re never buying GE appliances again). I needed a couple of pots so we went to the gardening section. This lovely purple plant caught my eye. We’ve seen it around our city so, hey, let’s get a pot and see what happens.
What happened was I did some research since the pot only said the plant was Ruellia. Well, according to the iSeek app, this is Ruellia simplex, a highly invasive plant.
WTF.
Through my research (and panic … what does one do with an invasive plant and why was it being sold at Home Depot????), I found the distributor (Costa Farms) who claims: “We sell sterile Mexican petunia varieties that don’t spread by seed. However, these are often vigorous plants and can colonize quickly in gardens and landscaping beds and borders — especially when grown in rich soil.” Okay, fine. The Ruellia I see around town seem well-controlled, but I’ll have to think long and hard about this. It’s so tempting to plant just this one in the front yard, yet perhaps I should keep it in a container.
Meanwhile, there’s that novel I should be working on.
One of the joys of gardening is discovering critters who like to eat my plants. I have three Black Swallowtail larvae on my Rue which is fine because that’s what Rue is for.
Larvae for Black Swallowtail. Photo by Marie A Bailey
More Black Swallowtail larvae. Photo by Marie A Bailey
I’ve also been knitting. Finally finished this wool lap blanket so I can put it away in my cedar chest since cold temperatures won’t be arriving down here anytime soon.
Teal and purple wool lap blanket. Photo by Marie A Bailey.
I’ve started crocheting granny squares for a larger blanket in a desperate effort to use up my stash.
I have a punch needle kit and a cross-stitch kit as well as three knitting projects waiting for my attention. And sewing? Did I mention sewing?
And then there’s my novel. Oh, boy. You see what I’m doing here?
I’m avoiding my novel because I’m intimidated by the idea of writing from the POV of three narrators. My instinct (these days anyway) says to stick with one, that it will be enough of a challenge to write in first person. I’m trying to work through that. I’m trying to get my writing groove back. But I’m a bit overwhelmed.
Going back to the quote at the beginning of my post, I am realizing that I’m my own worst enemy when it comes to being distracted and drowning. I need to develop some discipline if I’m ever going to finish my novel.
So what do you all do? You publishing writers out there: How do you organize your time? I see a lot of you engage in social media. How do you manage to do that AND work on your writing? Is it just a trick of the Internet that you all seem to be out and about on social media all the time? How do you manage to stay engaged and yet productive?
Thank you for reading, and thanks in advance for any advice you wish to share.
Bonus cat photo: Junior, the green-eyed bully who harasses Maxine until she poops.
Junior, green-eyed monster. Photo by Marie A Bailey
You all were so kind with my last post that I want to give you a brief update. Bear with me because the news starts out as not-good.
My sister had a setback on Saturday. She was moved back to the hospital and given IV fluids. We were all very upset, not understanding what was happening to her, and I still don’t know what happened. But the IV fluids worked! Early this morning my sister called her husband from the hospital and talked to him for 20 minutes! He reported that she was lucid, doing well, acting like her normal self. Since this morning, I’ve been getting texts from my nephews as they visit her and share their joy.
My sister was transferred back to the nursing home today, and I was able to talk to her this afternoon. She doesn’t remember anything about the weekend except that she had weird dreams. She chatted about how much she needs to get her hair washed and what clothes her husband should bring her since she’ll be in rehab for a while. She laughed and complained that her roommate had the TV on too loud so she wants someone to bring her ear plugs … otherwise she’ll go deaf. She laughed, and I was flooded with relief. She’s going to be okay.
As for my cat Maxine: after two weeks on antibiotics, she still has bacteria in her urine and elevated white blood count so a culture was sent off to a lab. We went through this with her a couple of years ago, trying different antibiotics and then a different vet (heh heh). We learned that an old cat such as herself could have a UTI that is untreatable by antibiotics. The thing is, she seems just fine. Aside from being hit-and-miss with the litter boxes, she’s spunky … like my sister.
Looks like we might have an explosion of Zebra butterflies before too long.
Marie at 1 Write Way 