Author: Sandy Webster

Beautiful mornings on my way in to have coffee with the men. Tragically one of the best of them passed away from a sudden heart attack a week ago today. I waited for him to come in on Monday so we could have a good visit, but he never showed up. His wife came in later to share the news. I told him not to go back to Florida for the winter. Told him it was a lousy state because of the politicians they continually vote into office. I gave him a scarf to help get through the colder winters here in North Carolina. He had just made sure I had his number in case I needed anything. Such a decent fellow. I miss him.

Later this past week I went to poetry reading. Read the poem about the leaf boat. Well received. Then I raised the question about the difference between a prose poem and an essay. And can an essay also be a short story. There were different responses so I ended up doing my own research. I love doing research! Anyway, it turns out that several of what I thought might be prose poems  are actually lyric essays. Essays need to be based on fact…like a memoir that evokes an emotion. Like poetry. A prose poem is fiction-based and purely poetic. Lyric essays can read like a poem but be more of a creative nonfiction that poetry will lack. Isn’t that interesting? Well it is to me as I try to figure out how to lay out my next book …what the sections should be.

As the weather turns colder and more damp, I am using my fireplace more. Quite cozy for me and the cats early in the morning.

This morning I wanted to fix a protein packed breakfast. Crusty seedy toast topped with heated ham then fresh spinach and topped with a fried egg. Half a naval orange added to the plate.

If I photograph my plate, then my kids can see I am eating a proper meal. Later this morning after the Sunday family call, I made savoury scones. Ten made their way into the freezer to pass as a quick lunch. These have ham, spinach, green onions and parmesan cheese. While they were in the oven I did my workout that concentrates on balance and heart rate. Here are those scones.

Friends in St. Louis are gathering in small groups to say good bye to a dear friend from the textile world out there. I have known her since mid-eighties. There will never be another with such an infectious laugh and terrific smile. I stayed with her and her husband every time I went out there to jury an exhibit or teach a workshop. We loved sitting and stitching or drawing together while remembering some fun times. Now a mutual friend wants to know if I would like to come with her to Australia next year. I must decline. Too old for such a trip now. And when I left there in 2019, I had a feeling that I might not be back, so placed parts of my exhibit for the Waterhouse Natural History in the hands of friends and tucked into crevasses of my favorite places. They were the soil-colored Eucalyptus leaves cut from Robert Hughes’ book, Fatal Shore. All the edges were burned as a nod to the fires and heat brought on by intense climate changes. A scattering of those paper leaves make up my screen saver image. I so hope the horrific fires going on now in Victoria come to an end soon.

It would be so hard to return and get to all the places I would want to go to see so many friends from over the years. Best to save my energy and memories and not find it so unbearable to say goodbye. But Suzy, go if you can. It is the most delightful place full of the best people you will meet.

Better go now. I have a hankering for a bit of Aussie red!

Til later….

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….