Friday Night in the Compound

Stayed busy today. Had coffee with two writers today. Always stimulating conversation. I was feeling lazy so I ordered take-out Chinese food for dinner. Later, I went to the feed store to pick up a couple of things. There were chicks, ducklings, tiny turkeys, and bunnies to look at. I bought sunflower seeds for my bird feeder, and some mane & tail conditioner for my horse. The farrier is coming to the ranch tomorrow and my horse is embarrassingly dirty.

They sell cages for children at the feed store. Very handy.

A Fantabulistic Friday in March

We're cruising through the week with all the elements of any good American life. Family drama from the mother-in-law, a new baby joins the family in far-away Australia, lots of cleaning, lots of crumbs and laundry, a little bit of writing on a daily basis no matter how worthless, and hundreds of other elements that make up a typical week in our home.

I read an article about Longmont's gentrification since the people who are both interesting and not rich, are being driven out of Boulder. If Boulder isn't careful, it'll have nothing left but trust fund slackers, bicyclists,  and college students. Longmont has a thriving art community, a wealth of writers, great view of the mountains, cheaper housing, nice parks, and a lot of events. Our farmer's market is close to rivaling Boulder's. The journalist who wrote the article tried to come up with a cool nickname for Longmont along the lines of LoDo, or NoBo but couldn't do it. I laughed about how Longmont used to be called Longtucky. No one I've spoken to around here has ever heard it called that. Personally, I think it should be our new, cool nickname. If anyone says it without some respect, we'll just kick that person's ass Longtucky style.

The relatives move in and Steve starts hiding under the clothes rack.

The second date is always better than the first, but he still did all the driving.

The Writing Life

I had the opening of a short story critiqued at the writing group last night. I took a little bit of real life in the form of a green folder I've been moving from house to house since I was 19 years old. A casual friend of Steve's put together a collection of his poetry and a couple of stories back when he was 17 or 18 years old. Alvin. Every time I look at it, I wonder whatever happened to him. I tried finding him on Facebook but had no luck. However, I found an old newspaper article about a street poet named Alvin, who is the right age. That got me thinking and writing. Fiction has a way of growing, first one direction then another. The writers critiquing my scant six pages were kind and encouraging. I have some new ideas now for growing the story in a balanced way. Other writers know how hard it is to work a concept to completion.

Weekends Make Me Sad

Weekends make me sad when they're over. Everyone is more relaxed and loosey-goosey with their time, and you never know who will pop in or call. The weekend is like living on a Caribbean Island in a Tiki hut, versus weekdays that are like being taken on a forced march in a juvenile delinquent camp in Utah.

I had a good breakfast at the Hidden Cafe, got a bunch of stuff done around the house in a short period of time, had a visit from M & J, then a visit from S, leftover pizza for lunch (score!), more snow fell, had spinach & cheese-stuffed chicken breasts, and finished up with two episodes of Game of Thrones. (reruns, but fun because I can actually follow the story line this time around).

And, sadly, tomorrow is Monday and it is making me feel tired to think about facing Monday Morning.

I made 15-bean soup today and had the worst episode ever of boiling the soup all over the stove. It was like Vesuvius only it smelled pretty good while it was making a godawful mess. There was, briefly, a waterfall-like effect as the soup cascaded onto the floor and underneath the stove. If I ignore the soup that is now trapped and festering beneath the large appliance, will it go away on its own?

I didn't think so. I'll add "cleaning beneath the stove" to my lengthy to-do list and will hope for the best.

Happier times in Vancouver, Canada. Not a Monday.

March Snowstorm

We had a nice snow day today.  The storm dumped more snow than we were expecting, but it was never that bad. We walked downtown and had a nice coffee and gingerbread at La Vita Bella Coffee.
Steve and I went to visit the bookstore "Brainfood" but they were taking a snow day. We all ended up at Barbed Wire Books and, of course,  I bought a book. I found a memoir by Diana Athill. It's titled, "Stet: an Editor's Life. Excellent reading.

We ordered pizza for dinner once I realized the chicken breasts were still frozen solid, so I had an easy evening.

Collecting the parts for a snowman.

Spring is Sprung

Spring is sprung
The grass is riz
I wonder where the boidies is?

(poet unknown)

The only thing harder than writing while riding a bicycle with no hands, is writing with an almost three-year-old in the house. I've spent a large portion of the morning writing a mere two pages. I've already written most of the story by hand, and have been simply trying to put it into the Word document with a few changes. This daily childcare is a temporary situation, but I've learned not to lose momentum with my writing. I'm old and don't have the time to spend warming up my vintage cranium these days.

It's not quite noon but the sun has finally made an appearance. We're expecting some rain sometime soon. I've promised my little nieta she can take her umbrella out into the rain should it actually happen.
We've already filled the bird bath and the feeders, and have done a lot of jobs around the house that have nothing to do with writing. I'm used to multi-tasking, just not in two-minute increments.

The most boring ride ever and it cost 50 cents.

We still find time to turn the cat into a bumblebee.

Living the Good Life in Longmont

It's a Monday morning and all is well in the blue house. It's going to be a nice day with the exception of air quality from our first big fire that has been burning for several days. I always think I'm sick but it turns out the smokey air is the culprit.

Today will be a writing day, followed by some socializing over coffee, and maybe followed by a visit to the ranch. Cooper, my horse, is in need of some grooming, but it's a dirty, smelly experience for the person trying to clean him up, and is best done before socializing. I plan to visit some boarding stables closer to Longmont in April. It would be great to have him nearer to the house. I'm looking for a place that can provide a shelter with a paddock, evening hours, an indoor arena, tack room, bathroom, and a view would be nice. The ranch in Boulder is about as pretty as it can get in the foothills, but has none of the modern conveniences. The road is a horrible washboard and the bathroom at the trailhead, which used to be clean and decent, is now disgusting. As busy as the open space around the ranch is, I'm surprised Boulder County Open Space doesn't take better care of things.

We're gearing up to get our resident granddaughter into preschool for at least three mornings a week. I need and want to finish the rewrite on my book.

A couple of years ago, I sent a story to the literary magazine, Glimmer Train. I was a "finalist" but was disappointed I wasn't in the top 25 list. I just read this on the Glimmer Train website: "Stories that don't make the top-25 list, but are in the top 5% of entries, earn Honorable Mention and will be marked "finalist." You should mention that in cover letters as you send the piece back out into the world. (Either "finalist" or "Honorable mention" will be accurate.) Nice work!" It cheered me up to know my story was in the top 5%.

It's a good day to be a Corbie-Crow!

Mixing it Up in Boulder

I'm grateful for the lovely weather even with the downsides such as fire and drought. There is a fire burning northwest of Longmont and it's out of control, as usual in our state. I haven't heard how the fire started. I don't mind water restrictions. We should have them all the time here in the West, and I don't think Los Angeles should be allowed to have lawns. So there.

We're at day four in the family saga where we bend two branches of the family tree and try not to snap anything. The goal is to live together in peace and harmony. (om) It's going well so far, but I'm starting to fantasize about the day my granddaughter can return to preschool.

My daughter and I went to the Dairy Center in Boulder last night and met a friend there. A writing friend was one of the stand- up comics at comedy night. It was fun to get out. I tracked down the popcorn in the movie area, then we bought chocolate at a snack bar. My friend, Mr. Gold, did a fine job. It was good to do some laughing.  He's a good writer so I'm hoping he'll find the time to continue writing fiction.

Moving Day...Sort Of

Today begins stage 1.3 of the creation of our commune on Collyer Street. I missed the 60s, but certainly over-enjoyed the 70s for a while, and I remember the communes and cults that were driving the mainstream culture crazy. Most communes never worked out. Too much pot, lazy guys, and hippie chicks who stepped right into the roles they thought they despised: cooking, cleaning, trying to find money, and having babies. The Farm in Tennessee seems to be the main success story and is still in operation today. They consider themselves to be an "intentional community" with like-mindedness and hard work as important factors. Drop City is a good book about a commune that was fairly typical in its dysfunction and it's a fun read. The memoirs written by the children born into communes are making their appearance these days. Okay reading but predictable. I'm joking when I call our new, and temporary, setup a commune. It's really a dictatorship, and I'm the captain. But I'm a nice captain. I was taught to be warm and huggy at grandmother camp. I can now say, "There, there, Sweetie" at a vocal register deeper than normal so that it sounds like a purr. You get some finesse if you go to camp.

So, the work continues. I love change even though it comes at a price, both monetary and physical. Life isn't supposed to be static, although many people love predictability and a daily routine. I like stability, and that's not the same thing as predicability. Routine is helpful, especially as a tool for aging.

I have to get busy. It's going to be another beautiful day in a beautiful week. We could be trying to get all of this moving stuff done in three-feet of snow, but we're lucky this time.

The saga continues.

Life is good when a friend brings you pie.

A Snowy March Evening

It's almost spring. We saw a bald eagle cruising above Longmont just yesterday. The art walks downtown will begin, along with the live music on Friday nights just three blocks from our house. We have parades and a good farmer's market here. I enjoy watching the many parachutes with crazy people attached to them as they jump out of a plane so high that you can't see it. You can only hear the drone of the engine as it circles higher and higher. You watch and watch then the specks appear, reminding me of tiny spiders hatching in the sky. I don't know where that image comes from but that's what I think of. Don't judge me.

The drive home from Denver was lovely today. There was a multitude of cloud types of all shapes and colors building up and moving fast as a cold front swept into the state. We have a lot of sky in Colorado, so there's room for lots of white and grey (and sometimes black) vaporous activity up there. However, the last thing I need, while driving 75 mph, is to be distracted by the sky.

Now, at 10:00, the rain has turned into a mucky snow. We're not expecting much precipitation out of this one, but it's all appreciated. I would love to see a news story proclaiming the drought to be over. The need for water in the West is a struggle we face all the time.

The preparation for our daughter and her family to move in with us continues. They are thinning out their possessions, throwing away stuff, donating, and packing. We have moved furniture around, decluttered, and packed away some fragile stuff since the soon-to-be resident granddaughter isn't quite three. You might think I fell out of my tree, but I'm looking forward to some change. It wasn't that long ago that three generations lived in one house and thought nothing of it. (god help the daughter-in-laws)

The back window reads: Funky Jesus Blazer.

Carry On

Rejoice, rejoice, we have no choice but to carry on.
Stephen Stills


This could be my mantra. I've always been a little disappointed I never got to be a competitive trail and endurance rider, but life compensated me by requiring other types of endurance. The thyroid cancer was a pain in the ass, destroying my attention span and draining my energy every time I had to go hypothyroid for a scan. I had teenagers and certainly could have made use of some brain cells at the time. Before a scan, I'd have to go off of my Synthroid for as long as it took to become depleted of the thyroid hormones. Not chemo awful, but awful enough. A few years down the road, a wonderful drug, Thyrogen came on the market. I could take a giant pill and be artificially thrown into hypothyroidism without the fuss and muss of a lengthy recovery period from the old fashioned method. No more hair stubble or long periods of staring at a wall wondering what it was. It would have been nice if Thyrogen had been available a few years sooner, but it still saved me a lot of brainless months.

Four years ago, a surgeon was amusing herself at my expense, trying to remove a cyst with a robotic device. The last thing she said to me was that I'd be home sleeping in my own bed that night. I found the thought to be very comforting. With the surprise discovery of cancer on one of my ovaries, another round of enduring began. No teenagers to worry about this time, but it was a lot bigger hole to climb out of this time. The next few months were miserable. I endured. My family and friends endured. We all carried on. The queen would be proud of us.

If you're not happy, and not doing something about it, you're making a big mistake. Life can't be entirely about personal gratification, but you can try to achieve some sort of a balance between the business side of life while still attending to your own needs. You never know if or when you'll be blindsided by something requiring endurance. Be prepared to carry on. It's always good advice.

This has nothing to do with the post, but I like the photo.

Plodding Along While Plotting

This week just keeps plodding along, one slow step after another. I'm doing lots of driving to Denver as my daughter's last five days at work wind to a close. The other grandma has bronchitis for the second time in a month and can't help out. Steve is sick again for the second time in a month, too. It seems worse this time. My cure would be to lay in the sun on a sugar-sand beach for a couple hours a day, watch the sun rise and the sun set, eat fresh and tasty food, read, then take a nap every day. Watch the stars circle the night sky. When was the last time you ever did that? Even if you were dying, you'd just have to feel better.

I was sending a gift to my niece who is expecting her first child. I picked out a couple of things on Amazon then decided to add a tube of Boudreaux's Butt Paste. It's a good product for diaper rash, and it doesn't have a stinky smell. A page of various diaper creams came up. I was scrolling down the page when I came to a product  called "Anal Brightening Cream". Totally distracted me from the mission at hand.

I looked it up again this morning to be sure of the facts. (I hope I remember to clear the computer's history)  It has natural ingredients and costs a mere $34.97. I couldn't find any information about the size of the tube, and the reviews were mixed.

We watched a Japanese movie the other night, and the best line in the entire movie was, "His anus must be missing a crease". Why, in god's name, would anyone believe they need to brighten something like that? So they won't misplace it in the dark?

When I become curious about weird shit, I tell myself I can work it into a story someday. Probably not this time.

Writing From Inside a Snow Globe

It started snowing this morning just after 11:30. I had already finished my run to the bank and post office, and enjoying a latte at Ziggy's before returning home. I did a respectable number of jobs around the house before heading out, giving me a no-guilt afternoon for writing.

We worked hard around here on Sunday because we're currently in a state of flux and preparation. One of our daughters interviewed for a job in Boulder County and was hired in an unusually short amount of time. This caused a lot of decisions to be rapidly made. She, her husband, and daughter (and two cats) need a bigger place, so I had been agitating for a move for some time. (I don't get a vote, but I can have an opinion) I, as a part-time babysitter, very much dislike the drive to their house in Denver, particularly the drive home at rush hour when some of the blankity-blank drivers speed while cutting in and out of traffic, resulting in accidents that tie up the freeway for hours. There are simply too many people using the roads at the same time and it's not going to get any better.

The short version (you can thank me later) is that they are moving in with us until their house sells. While dreading all the work involved to move them, I'm happy about the change. Moving in with family is one of life's transitions that we need to be open to, and Longmont is a great town with a lot to offer its residents and visitors. I'm also fond of Denver. I consider the entire state to be my home, so I don't ever have to worry about divided loyalties.

I should start a contest where you buy a square to predict the move-out date. That way you could have an opinion, but not a vote, too. We used to do those contests when I worked in the factory but they were secret from management so maybe they weren't legal.

This is the perfect kind of snow. The driveway and roads are clear.

My Muse is Taking a Mental-Health Day

I've been sitting here trying to write for longer than I care to put in writing. I'm going to place the blame on a variety of factors, such as trying to do too much on a day when I am already burned-out.

I went to my daughter's house early today to check on her kittens. Daughter is out gallivanting around a big city in a galaxy far, far away, but she asked me to run by her house. The kittens had knocked a vase off the refrigerator, causing a big mess of broken glass. I started cleaning up, but soon realized there were glass shards as far away as the front door, underneath the dining room table, in a shoe box they had been playing in, and glass was worked into the carpet. I picked up the bigger pieces then vacuumed. (note to self: they could use a new vacuum that sucks in a helpful way) After examining the cats for any signs of injury, I wrote a note to the official pet sitter and left.

Next, I met a friend in Niwot to talk about her short story, and to talk about every person we know in common. We talked about kids, dancing, and god knows what else.

I saw other friends in the afternoon. We raked my life over the coals for a while, then talked about every person we know in common. I gave my opinion on one person's poem. I'll be upset if he abandons fiction to become a hotsy-totsy poet, but he's that good and he already has the right kind of hat.

My short story, Vapor Trails, was published in The Fat City Review that came out today. What a great way to start off the merry month of March. Now I have something I can put in my next bio. Currently it reads: Rebecca is a writer living and writing in Colorado. She is currently working on a novel. Now I can add: She has been published in The Fat City Review. Awesome.

Naughty kitty. No, she is not dead. Contorted, but alive.

Innocent kitty with a lovely tail.