Frosty mornings

Beyond the bathroom window in grey light, the row of used cars sports first frost.

Standing in the kitchen, I crave the magic cornucopia that will cleanse my body and soul. I pour a small glass of guava juice, spilling some on the counter. The taste refreshes, but falls short of fabulous.

A warm shower enfolds me, reminding me how good it feels on a chilly morning. The dark, wet lover has returned.

Back in my room, I notice my overalls hanging empty from the corner of the bunk, the same place they have hung since May. I wore them every day last winter when my guts were torn apart. They demanded less of my body than other clothes. They let me feel sexy despite the colostomy.

Now, on a whim, I pull them back on. Gently, snugly, they hold my healed abdomen.



Frost on my bathroom window, December 2, 2002.

A moth

While I was admiring wild asters, an elegant brown moth landed on the camera and stayed there. How was I supposed to take a picture of that, or anything else?

Crock and Tendril take a vacation

I don't know how to continue the novel I started writing earlier this month. I have a few ideas for chapter 6, but beyond that I'm lost. It's not that I don't know how to write the next chapter, but I lack a destination. I started to uncover an underlying theme, but can't see how to execute it convincingly. So the story doesn't have any point to it. The possibilities are becoming too silly, even for me.

It's frustrating, because I liked many elements of the first five chapters. I enjoyed the characters, particularly Crock, the 29-year-old deaf gay playwright, and the relationship with his 12-year-old daughter, Tendril.

I need to put this project on the shelf and give myself permission to start something different.

The purpose of this exercise was to learn something, and to find out whether I could tackle NaNoWriMo. I learned a few things:

1. Although I don't want to plan the whole story beforehand, I need a destination. Otherwise I get derailed.


2. I also need to pick an audience and genre before I start writing.


3. I like writing whimsy, and some people like reading it.


4. Lark, Tendril, Crock, Lesson, Credenza and Mrs. Apron may assist my future endeavours if they want to.


5. I can't handle writing 2,000 words a day on one project. I would have to write larger chunks, maybe 3,200 words four times a week, to complete NaNoWriMo. I still can't tell whether that much pressure will do me any good. Part of me wants to craft the writing more carefully as I go, but another part doubts whether I'll ever finish a first draft that way. It's helpful seeing the way different LJers work. I have to find my own groove.


6. This is only the second novel in my life I have written past the second chapter. It feels like progress, and I value these lessons.

I was amazed at all the people who took time to read this stuff, and I deeply appreciate their comments. I especially want to thank dubious_one, ghostsandrobots and roosterbear for their encouragement, advice and helpful critiques. I feel bad for not letting people know how things turn out, but to my chagrin, I don't know.

Except that some deaf, dysfunctional fairies were plotting to kidnap Crock. It would have been another catastrophe for Tendril, but I couldn't stop their plotting. I don't know what they wanted, and prefer not to.

Orchids

below the garden
and parched lawn
down scattered rocks
glacial till long harboured
hidden dry under hawthorns

ancient pond beyond trembling
aspens you couldn't
see its secret
wood ducks nest

their invisible shriek
calling
stumble past
red-osier
burst through
stepping sedges

almost stepping
almost
trampling

a sitting circle
wait
and nod
of yellow lady's slippers

Zucchini boats

This was my lunch today, with a couple chopped mushrooms added. Makes a side dish for two. My daughter, Marian, likes these, too. Endless variations and substitutions are possible. I like to serve it with hash browns.

1 medium zucchini
1 teaspoon oil
½ teaspoon garlic, minced
1 green onion, chopped
dash pepper
2 eggs, beaten
¼ cup cheddar cheese, grated

Cut zucchini in half lengthwise. Scoop out pulp and chop it. Microwave the shells on high for two minutes, or steam in a pot with a little water until tender.

Heat oil in a pan. Sauté garlic, onion and pulp until tender. Add eggs and pepper and scramble.

Scoop egg mixture into shells, sprinkle with cheese and place under broiler for three or four minutes.

1980-1994

see! seee! seeeeeeeeeee! seeeeeeeeee! !!!

See!

Every day I hear them when I walk along the river. They have gathered in nomadic winter flocks once more, clustering and whistling like garrulous, hooded elves in the tops of dead trees. More often I only hear their soft, reedy voices scattering somewhere out of sight. What keeps them here I don't know. They have finished off the elderberries. Soon they'll tire of whatever it is. Highbush cranberries? Wild grapes? Then disappear without trace, only to return inexplicably in a flock of hundreds some bitter February morning.

They aren't shy, merely distant and detached from the human realm, more so than other birds. Living on berries and insects, they never need to come down to earth where more of us would realize how sleek and dashing they are. In the heavens they wheel and dive. They move in a collective, landing as one and passing fruit from one mouth to another up the branch. They are cheerful and energetic but offer no song, only their high trills, uttered all at once like a scurry of school children as they lift and vanish from the crown of a tree.

Forever and ever, every diminutive whistle I hear rising into the sky will remind me of him.