Author: Sandy Webster

It is over. Company returned home. Everything taken down and stored for another year. I have always taken it all down the morning after Christmas. Enough!

Here is Dilly trying to read her name on any package.

Sadie prefers to stay in the bedroom.

Remember that English Christmas cake I made a few years ago? We cut a slice or two back then to have with Madeira and sharp Irish cheddar? Well each year I take it back out of the fridge and we have a bit more. It is almost half gone as I wrap it back up until next year.

It is better this year than before. And does not have to meet the fate of fruitcakes in Edward Gorey’s delightful drawing.

I had a bit of a cold during Christmas. Been resting up most days but still getting those 8000 steps in. I listened to a dreadful Dan Brown book. Did he ever read some of those lines out loud!? Do all his books have the same story? Just more sorry, idiotic characters? I have reached the bottom in mysteries to have to listen to his books. I use Libby from the library systems for my audio books and can only get what they have on offer, but need more suggestions.

Yesterday I spent the day watching Jack Smith’s testimony before a committee on the January 6th insurrection and accountability. Of course, during the same time, the president here decides to act in a most illegal and irresponsible way by invading a country to take their oil and kidnap their president. Can we get more aggressive and stupid?! No. Not with such an ignorant, greed-filled cabinet and slow-witted, compliant population that will follow their president any where he points while sending him their last dime just to feel a part of the country’s demise. Okay, I am through with the rant.

I am going to spend this year doing more writing and drawing in my sketchbooks. Sometime this year I will publish a new book of assorted short stories, essays and poems.

Here is a new one…

 

I Have This Boat

I have this boat

made from two leaves.

The first, that would float

if I let it,

is a long, brown and spotted

oval, curved upwards,

stem extended from the stern.

Closer to the bow,

a leaf of equal size,

but flattened and lace-like,

stands erect to catch

the wind,

and sail past

my desire to climb aboard.

 

Several years ago I made boats. None were built to go in the water. Just be there to take themselves and me away. I often think that the best boat ride would be in a wide row boat floating gently among cattails and water lilies, looking over the edge through green/brown water to watch what I was floating over. Then tracing a finger in the surface to make small ripples until I was brave enough to put my whole hand in to hold the coolness.

This week I promise myself to get something accomplished. For now, a nap seems nice. A nap with my cats.

Til next week.

A beautiful morning here this week. This was the view on my way home from having breakfast Friday morning with a group from the coffee shop.  I had just finished a pecan waffle with strawberries on top and a touch of whipped cream. Very nice.

Saturday I went back to pulling pages from old journals. Several things to toss out, some to save. I also went back to doing some copying of writings found in last week’s Nick Cave journal.

Here is one for fun….

My Feet

The right foot:

            Always in the lead

            Taps to music

            Can’t wait to put its shoe on

            Must be first

            Controls all pedals

              on the car floor

              sewing machine

              foot-levered waste basket

            Whatever!

            It is there to be counted on.

But the left!

            Just a follower

            And slow at that!

            Clumsy on the dance floor

            Uncertain where to step next

            Every stumble is likely its fault

            And just guess which was the first to get a bunion!

 

My fortune cookie prophecy this week…

“Embrace the rhythm of life, and dance to your own unique song.”

Seems like a good idea to me.

This afternoon I head over to a neighbor’s house to drink champagne….another good idea.

Amy, Patrick and Marla arrive tomorrow. I need to make a soup for when they get in exhausted from the drive and probably one another’s company. 10-12 hours on the highway is an adventure that I no longer take. It wears me out thinking about it. I do tell them that they are free to skip coming down to see me in person. We have Zoom type calls twice a week, so they can check up on me that way. And already some neighbors have made sure I won’t be alone for Christmas and am welcome to come spend the day with them if I am alone. Such good neighbors!

I wish there was more news, more happening in my life right now, but the quiet is good. Lots of time to write and next, get back to drawing in my books. I miss concentrating on making drawings of the things I find interesting to look at. I need to do a drawing for a neighbor. She asked for something quite simple and she has the nicest smile…I could not say “no”. First thing tomorrow I will get it done.

There are no other pictures this week…just Dilly having a bad hair day.

More next week after Christmas when company is making their way back to the cold north.

Til then….

 

Out to dinner with my doctor the other night. Delicious scallops for me and a very juicy porkchop for her. A few days later I met up with my new doctor who seems to believe i am in very good physical shape. He and I share more funny stories than test results. Next I was back to the new coffee shop to test the breakfast offerings and give the owner another chance at fixing a flat white. This was such an improvement!

Later this week I will take some of my children’s books to him and the Australian bike shop fellow. Might drop a couple off to my new doctor because his kids are just so cute! It is good to see young settlers in Hayesville. Mostly we seem to be elderly….but that is likely because I live in an area where older-ness is the norm.

Today I had a strong hankering for a Turkish coffee, so brewed one up in my ibrik. I bought this little copper one at a tea shop in Melbourne years ago. When Patrick visits he brings his shipped ibrik that is from Armenia and large enough for the three cups he, Marla and I need on special mornings. Mine is just for a single serving with a bit of cream.

As soon as I finished sipping the Turkish coffee I used up some scallions, ham, spinach, and parmesan in assortedly-shaped savoury scones.

Very good and pass for a meal in my book.

A neighbor and friend brought me this gift the other day. She knows me quite well by now.

I returned to a poetry group this last week and read the poem I shared here last week. Robyn Gordon from South Africa shared it on her site and because she has such a large following, I still hear about how it touched others from far, far away.

Yesterday I decided to do something that I strongly advise others to do. I wanted to check my sketchbooks and especially journals where I might have written something that does not need to be read after I am no longer here. I pulled out the large sketchbook/journal that Nick Cave sent me as a thank you for a small book I made of his sound costumes when they were performed in 2000 something.

I found that some pages had already been removed (which is a good thing, I am sure). But those remaining had so many stories resulting from prompts by author Elizabeth Berg on writing true. There was even one on watching of 9/11 unfold. Many of the writings will make their way into the next book of essays/etc. One of them brought me back to my early dislike (fear) of water. And that steered me to this early attempt of making a collograph. It was brought on by trying to visually express that fear of water along with a call to my doctor (the same one I had dinner with this week). I was getting ready to head out on my first teaching tour of Australia in 1997. She casually asked how I was feeling. I said without hesitation that I felt like I was dragging a f***ing camel uphill. She suggested hormone therapy pills. The feeling passed, but later remembered for this collograph plate. Why not just put that camel on a boat floating among turbulent waves and sharks Hauling uphill was not enough! I think I was taking my house with me and had an additional boat on the camel’s back just in case we sunk the big one. Surely it would have been the camel’s fault! The sea was rough, the camel was looking elsewhere, and somewhere I was hanging on for dear life.

Isn’t it funny how we cram so much story into an image? I pulled one print, said something the equivalent of “WTF” and gave up. But the origins of that fear of water revisited in this writing (essay) found in the book Nick Cave sent me.

Feeling the Bottom

I clung to the side of the raft, keeping myself well-planted on the surface – only looking like I was going to descend into the water with the others. The water is so clear, so deep, so very full of its own depth with mysterious dark shapes. It was cold too – colder than what it was when the raft was closer to shore, where you could see the sandy bottom more clearly. They were all in by now – all but me had gone over the side to swim ashore, just like our swimming coach had ordered. I had frozen myself into a state of unwillingness and could no longer look at any of them. They had become as fearful to me as the water. They, too, had changed. Looking at me expectantly, then with doubt, and then just looking away. Left me there. Later big boys came out. Swam all the way! And hauled the raft in toward shore and the row of Minnows who had now graduated to Sharks. I will still be a Minnow tomorrow and probably the rest of summer. But at least I was where my feet could touch the bottom.

So, that is all I have for today. It is going to be bitter cold tonight and I have half a can of split pea soup to mix with the last of store-bought mashed potatoes. Sounds pathetic, but strangely comforting food…a bit like a hot chocolate and warm socks. A bit like a cat on each side and a glass of Aussie red.

Til later….

Christmas cards are mounted and signed. This afternoon I will address them all. They are not my best effort but the need to make 24 every year continues to matter to me. I use a very old address book just so I can be reminded of all those who have passed on.  Christmas is a reminder of many things, but especially of what is no longer here.

The new Asian restaurant in town was a lovely experience the other night. It is the same place where Elizabeth would have a Manhattan ready at four in the afternoon on a Tuesday when I arrived at my table with writing pad in hand. In fact two local bartenders came by my table to say hello. The place opens at four and by four thirty was filled up. I ordered a drink designed for the restaurant with bourbon and a crane sitting on the rim.

And then a couple of appetizers including lettuce wraps (delicious)!

And I did a final bit of fussing out front with the pots. I think sticks are so much better than fake greens. I will need to find a new home for those “life-like” green Christmas tree and boughs. Th1s nest for my old bird is perfect for the winter

Last evening a neighbor messaged me to check the sky. The cloud front coming in from the southeast was spectacular.

This afternoon I will fix myself an Australian herbal tea, send condolences to those suffering horrific bushfires down under, and address cards to those I miss.

I love this little tea strainer I made many years ago. Everyone who came for Christmas dinner had one used as a place card that sat atop their wine glass. Mine straddles Lee’s old coffee mug and waits for me to remember earlier times.

Here is a poem written last week. It is not a sad poem but a reminder that we can always find a reason to smile at the memories.

 

The Ones We Miss

 

I don’t miss who I used to be

just some of those who knew me then.

The ones who were there to be missed later

when their memory is needed to return,

to sit by my side, reach for my hand.

 

I pull theirs close to hold against my cheek,

and let them wipe away the tears of loss.

They stay with me and wait until I smile

at the stories they tell of how we were.

 

After we both grow silent,

they pull away, touch my face,

and say, “See you next time.”

S. Webster

I keep thinking that I should just stop writing poems and get a new book published. But another one I wrote just two days ago makes me want to wait until I hit a dry spell. Maybe getting stuck into a good short story will get me ready to stop poetry long enough to put them in some kind of order with an illustration or two. Maybe.

Anyway, I will carry on with my plans for today and try not to plan too far ahead. Except maybe a return trip to the Asian restaurant with pad in hand as I find the most removed table I can sit at…back turned toward the door, and my hand gripping a pen that is anxious to get something down.

Til later…..