I welcome you.
Though you may or may not be entertained by my thoughts, it is for MYSELF that I pen a blog.
As a writer, I enjoy expressing myself.
When I write long romance novels, I am inside my head so much, I forget to focus on reality.
By writing once and a while on my blog, when the mood hits me, I have the freedom to come and go.
To pull up a chair and order lemonade or an ice cream sundae.
To either gobble it down, or eat it ever so slowly...
...until it melts into a concoction that resembles mushy milk.
Pull up a chair! Have a read. I hope you enjoy it.
I do...and that's what really matters.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
I don't often brag, but my End-of-the-Harvest Chutney is awesome. Though I did not enter it in the fair and win a red, white, or blue ribbon, my husband loves it. That is the best prize for me.
Soon I will harvest our apples: Macintosh and Granny Smith. Pies...tarts...sauce...YUM! At this point our freezer is stuffed, but we will eat all the meat within two weeks to make room in the frozen Arctic for all those apples that need to be peeled, cored, sliced, cooked, and bagged. It is laborious work, but come the middle of winter going to the freezer is like resurrecting the garden. Other farmers will certainly understand why this is alluring.
Now the garden is bare, its greenery raped and mangled by the tines of the rototiller. Gone are the cornstalks, gone are the pumpkin and cucumber vines. Now the rich earthy smell rises from the garden like farmer's cologne. Male farmers love bonding with their soil. Down goes the winter rye as my husband uses his broadcaster to shoot the seeds evenly on the soil. In a few days little green blades of grass will consume the dirt. A field of winter rye will grow...over the winter the soil and grass will keep each other company. In the spring the rototiller will fire up again. The grass will be tilled in; the nutrients will make the soil smell like cologne resurrected.
The seeds will go down. Sprouts will poke up through the soil. Farmer's will smile to themselves; congratulate themselves for coveted green thumbs. After all, not everyone has the gift. Then the growing season and the whole process begins again. A process farmers love, like a good New England boiled dinner. Ayup.
Back and forth to work I drive, thinking about the Balance Sheet or Income Statement, and then the twelve mile drive is over. I'm stuck inside for the day. I do some work with the adding machine. I shuffle BS paperwork. I figure payroll taxes. My mind is heavily occupied. There is no room for error, though on occasion I'm stumped.
At lunch if it's nice I go out on the deck for some fresh air, sun, and relaxation. To the left and right I tilt my neck, working out kinks. I see it...a colorful blur painted by nature's artist. When my vertebrae snaps back into place I look at the color. It is the woods. Red, orange, yellow...those autumn leaves are a fire in a forest. The safe kind of fire. The kind of fire firemen enjoy. The kind of fire that makes me glad I'm a New Englander!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
A kid climbing a wall,
Obstacles hindering the way,
Why pressure herself?
Why not just go play?
Twelve months ago her first attempt
To master placement of hands and feet,
What makes her push herself so hard?
What makes her fears obsolete?
Twice this day she tried to go higher,
Tried to achieve personal success,
This afternoon she climbs in sneakers and pants,
This morning danced in ballet shoes and a tutu dress!
Monday, September 22, 2008
One winner, a friendly lady from Northwood, proudly poses in front of her winning cupcake entry. The festive orange and yellow leaves were a blanket of autumn foliage, upon which sat chocolate cupcakes smothered with peanut butter frosting, and topped with toffee peanuts.
Oh! So mouth-watering! I know -- I was one of the judges!
Her prize of a baking bowl filled with baking supplies was hugged to her heart. She says this was her first baking contest. That she loves to bake and intends to seek out other baking contests. I believe she will win many more prizes.
Baking is confection of the heart, made with love, and devoured by loves ones. Enjoy!
Monday, September 15, 2008
night is Fall. Looming midnight Winter.
I sprout new growth that is vibrant green.
I thrive and the fruits of my boughs now form.
I am a tree growing despite lack of water…
I am gnarled, backwards: I am Nella Masil...
Can you figure me out? Who am I?
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Here I am, pushing 47, and finally I take the plunge and make that delicious dessert that I usually only buy and eat at the Deerfield Fair! The fair is nearing, but I was getting antsy.
I enlisted my young niece. She willingly helped me. It was her first time making fudge, too. I wanted to make chocolate, but she doesn't like chocolate, so we went to the market to get peanut butter chips to melt in the Fluff concoction.
I'm telling ya, it was soooooooooooo goooooooooooood!
I'm proud of my success. Next I will make chocolate fudge, and then maple walnut, and then mint, and then whatever else tickles my fancy. I am a fool for fudge!
Monday, September 1, 2008
Family Circle, Better Homes and Gardens, Martha Stewart Living, Redbook, Prevention, Remedy...just to name a few.
That is not counting the thirty or more Writer's Digest up here in the bedroom and the collection of 100 or more Writer's Digest down in the basement. These Writer's Digest magazines are invaluable. I will keep all of these. I must also keep my writer's reference library...I have about fifty 'how-to' books for writers on a vast array of topics.
Someday I hope to actually read them in my quest for education. When I retire I will write full-time. If I am not published before I retire, I will definitely be published after I retire! I will have these books-on-the-craft-of-writing handy for the writer's retreat I hope to have here in my woods someday, or I will gift them to a library upon my death.
However, I am flipping through all the before-mentioned magazines and passing them on to my sister. She is either passing them on to someone else once she's done, or she's chucking them in the trash. Either is fine with me...they are finally out of my house!
TODAY my husband and I left at 9:00 a.m. and headed to the beach. In the back of the pick up truck were our new bicycles; his blue and mine maroon...both Schwinns. There was not a cloud in the sky...it was baby blue. (Down in the Gulf Hurricane Gustav is wrecking havoc.) Over to Odiorne State Park, across from the Wentworth-By-The-Sea hotel, we parked our truck and mounted our bikes. We rode with the sea breeze. To the ocean we peddled and then walked the length of the beach. Then we sat on a park bench and people watched. More than 200 people were crammed on that beach. The wind blew soft at times, and then gusted. People's colorful umbrellas contorted and blew inside out in the gale...my husband and I chuckled to see the panicked faces. The day in the sun, that was TODAY.
TOMORROW is the last day off of my four-day holiday weekend. I have three commitments. First, I must take to the elementary school one of the prizes I put together for the winner's of Nottingham Day's First Annual Cupcake Contest. The committee thinks the kids will get excited and sign up to participate if they see the actual prize. Second, I go to my therapist to help me sort through feelings from the past. It's kind of like a tattletale session...thirty-years too late. Third, I have invited my brother over for supper so I can give him a 100-year-old painting that Nana had in her apartment and she gave me before she went to Heaven. My brother didn't get much of her things, and I find I want to share it...so this is me, being nice. Also as guests for supper will be my sister and my young niece, two of my favorite people. I'm actually going to cook!!! A day of commitments, that is TOMORROW.
YESTERDAY, TODAY, TOMORROW. LIVE EACH DAY TO THE FULLEST!