A Moveable Feast
I have a good friend who just got back from Key West. She went with her daughter, and I asked, when I discovered they were going, if they chose to go there because they were Hemingway fans. That wasn't the reason, but his Key West house is one of my favorite things there. That conversation got me thinking about what is arguably my favorite of his works, A Moveable Feast. A memoir about his early writing days as an ex-pat in Paris, during his marriage to his first wife, it was published posthumously and remains a best-seller. This is my favorite passage: But sometimes when I was starting a new story and I could not get it going, I would sit in front of the fire and squeeze the peel...
Hope
As you know, we have a non-profit called Hope for the Trail. We offer equine-assisted therapy for kids and adults with all manner of challenges, and little by little, we are growing. Back in the fall, I was looking for a local photographer to do our family portraits, as we've always done them in Florida since the kids were there. However, after Emmie moved here, we had the opportunity have them taken on our own property, something I'd always wanted to do. I had Pair of Spades recommended to me, and looked them up on Facebook, noting their address on a street that intersects ours. When I asked about it, I found out that they were our new neighbors, having only recently moved into the...
An Inconvenient Truth
I'd like to take this opportunity to discuss something that is not often the topic of conversation, but must be mentioned from time to time. Poop. Yes, I really just wrote that. And, like I said, it's not typically a hot topic at dinner parties unless you're a member of the parent set, and only then if you a) have a newborn, or b) are in the throes of potty-training. I am including myself in that esteemed group, even though I am a grandparent, because I'm a caregiver three days a week of my potty-training grandson. Truthfully, he took care of most of the training himself. We waited until he was really, truly ready and he took to it like a duck to water. Well, at least to Number One,...
Procrastination
I've been walking by it all month. Right off the garage, I've been forced to see it there, screaming a litany of what needs to be done. My desk (or catch-all, which is by far the more accurate term) has had neatish stacks of papers, statements, and stuff for Hope for the Trail sitting there, mocking me, as the holidays made merry around it. But it hasn't made me feel merry. Not in the least. A dread, heavy like a wet wool blanket, had weighed on me every day, so when I awoke yesterday still on a high from the removal of Christmas, I determined that it was the day to take siege. Armed with a tall glass of cold water and lime, I began my plan of attack. Basically, I picked up the...
Purge
I have purging on the brain. I can think of nothing else, really, and feel almost like an expectant mother in the throes of nesting, such is my urgency. Every cabinet, every drawer, seemingly threatens to spill its contents at my feet upon every opening. I feel closed in by the "stuffness" of my house. Yesterday, I plowed into Christmas with a vengeance, putting it away with the same enthusiasm as when I put it out, and I feel better for the effort. The house seems on its way to being reclaimed. I told Kevin, as I looked around with the first inklings of satisfaction, that this year's need to clean out was greater than any year before...that is until I read my TimeHop. This time...