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Here is about half of the neighbors/friends who came to hear the two with guitars and voices in the background give those invited a small concert. I was given earplugs and a chair by the door when I reached my limit of plucking and strumming. They were not only brave to do this but not too bad. I did not leave early and enjoyed the gathering enough to keep it going at another neighbor’s house as we all walked home.

The next day my doctor/friend came over to try out making a brie encrusted appetizer while we played cards. It was pitiful. See below.

We went by a recipe that said to wrap the brie wheel in puff pastry after topping with raspberry jam and almonds…then bake for forty minutes at 350 degrees.

All we could taste was the punky skin of the brie and uncooked dough of the puff pastry. It was suggested that I should not have put it into a pie plate to heat but a metal parchment lined pan. And the temperature should have been 400 or a bit higher for less time. Also that maybe an egg wash would have been better than the melted butter I brushed on. All we can say is that it tasted as bad as it looked. Any suggestions from those who actually served one of these appetizers with confidence would be welcome.

When I had my party a couple of weeks ago, a neighbor brought me these fresh eggs. Aren’t they lovely?

I might make a quiche this weekend.

My watch now tells me that I am over 7,000 steps so far. I might just have another glass of wine and find an interesting bit of writing to make this blog post a bit longer.

Here is a bit from a new short story titled, Shadows. A woman in her seventies has found herself now living alone in a cabin by a lake. I like how she thinks about going into the new surroundings of her home….

“The place is smaller than what I’m used to. Most notably there is no entry. Did you know that entryways/foyers are a needed place to drop off where you came from and prepare yourself to enter the personal space beyond.

But, here, when I opened that cabin’s front door, I was confronted with all the changes I have made. I now walked right into one big open area of living/dining/kitchen. Once inside I felt somehow exposed in the openness, and I glanced into the corners before taking my next step.

For the first few weeks of living here, I would back out, close the door and sit on the porch bench until I was ready. It helped.

Then I started picking things up from out there and bringing them in. I had to walk across the room to place each one in a large wooden bowl on the table. And by doing so my new home slowly wrapped itself around me. I began to feel the caress of familiarity.”

And this about her observation of the shadows in her home…..

“Some of the things one thinks about in solitude should not even be discussed in the company of others. Consider this. For some months I thought about the lives and movements of shadows. What are they actually capable of as they move slowly away from the object that gives them life and a light that makes them mobile. I took notes as thoughts came to me on their behaviors while I kept an eye on those shadows.

Whenever I went out, I’d try to be home before the shadows came inside. I wanted to be settled in my bed when I sensed them scurrying about to find a suitable spot to spend the night. Sitting up in bed and clutching my pillow, I’d listen to the shadows brush past each other to get comfortable in the darkness. Once all was quiet, I would lay back and fall asleep while keeping my own shadow tucked safely under my body.”

Interesting isn’t it? Here, with shades to block out neighbors’ houses and sun, I have few shadows sneaking into the house. Certainly nothing as this woman has invading her cabin in the woods by the lake. Anyway it is an adventure to follow her thinking.

Now for that nice cool Sauvignon Blanc.

Til later….

Amy sent these to me for my birthday. She thought I might be missing Australia. She was right. Yesterday I was counting up how many new poems (35), new essays (6), and six more short stories since I last put them into a book on Amazon. So this summer there will be a new one from S. Webster. There is editing to do and a new cover to be designed and maybe a couple more writings.

But this one I found while getting organized was perfect with Amy’s gift.

Australia Longing – S. Webster

What is it that causes this sudden sadness, or longing, or need? This time it is a recipe on the back of the Tasmanian Basketmakers Newsletter. Anna Lizotte’s family recipe for Tomato Spice Cake. How can “tomato” and “cake” be in the same context? And then it happens.

I miss Australia right now. At this very minute I want to be there. How do I care for this longing? Why is it so fierce? I can smell the soil, feel the air on my skin. I can taste it. Will it be like this later when I am too old to return? My eyes fill with tears at the thought of not being there. Why does it matter so much? Two glasses of wine that weren’t even Australian. What triggers these emotions?

It is the longing thing – that longing that we have no control over. It just comes sneaking in and takes hold. No words can explain it. My husband glances over and then away – no words are best. I look ridiculous or nuts right now. And I feel bereft. “Bereft” – that is the perfect word, and I am slightly better now I’ve defined it. I think it happens when too many memories of times in Australia pour into my consciousness and push everything else away. Only Australia is there – the people, the land, the tastes, the smells – the longing.  

I can’t remember when this was written…certainly before Lee became ill. But I am glad to have put those feelings into words on paper or stuck them into the netherworld of my laptop.

 

So Amy tells me to just make a small tear in these packages and inhale Australia. Maybe this afternoon at wine time.

The internet has made it easier to keep in touch with Australia. I linger over images of Eucalypt trees and the red center of that country. And there are literally hundreds of pictures I have taken over all my trips down under. Nothing better than the eyes of emus and kangaroos. And at eighty-one, I am not going to return. The saying goodbye when the time came to leave would be too much.

Perhaps when my ashes are turned into stones like Lees were, a couple will be sent down under.

Which reminds me. Last week on my birthday,  a friend took me to lunch and then over to my old place. The new owners were so kind to take us on a tour through the entire house.  So many changes! And so beautiful! they have more common sense than Lee and I had, so filled in the long fish pond and removed the big planter of black bamboo that made getting around the driveway near impossible! The colors on the walls are very calming and lend themselves well to her many quilts. I asked if I could come back with a couple of Lee’s stones to toss out into the woods where his deer would come from to eat the corn we put out, and they said, of course. I also will give them the sketchbook I did of every step and cost of building the house.

I just wrote this poem to take to the next poetry group.

 

Temporary Storage         S. Webster

Occasionally on my walks through the neighborhood,

I glimpse into garages and notice the new neighbors have

filled theirs with things they could not leave behind.

 

Within a year those things will be moved into storage.

Another six months visiting their belongings before realizing

they are paying a stranger to keep what they can’t remember.

 

One last attempt is made to get children to form an attachment

to things they were forced to be careful around.

And it’s gone. Strangers buying what you can’t remember.

 

Till later…I need to get another 1000 steps in to reach my goal of 7,000.

Wine tasting theme this past week was Australia. Really loved the table decorations.], wine, food, and company!

My work place in the garage is all set up with the tools I still think I will use. But for now it is pretty humid out there. Wood block carving will be something I will do first!

Of course, when Patrick arrives, there will be a 80 lb. punching bag hanging in front of the dehumidifier.

Friday night I had a party for most of the neighborhood. Over thirty came over for food and drink.

I was so happy that I had Epic Catering make the food. It was delicious and none of us had to do anything but show up and enjoy each other’s company. Most everyone brought flowers and wines. Sadie eats flowers only to toss up later. So what didn’t fit out of reach was given away for others to enjoy.

Then it was all about the No Kings Rally the following day. Here is my sign.

And some rally shots.

I just noticed that someone in the front of the last picture had enlarged my image of trump and WRONG! to use as a protest sign. There were 640 who rallied against the imbecilic, cruel, egomaniacal trump….and only five trump supporters, mostly in pickups with trump flags hanging out the back and driving back and forth. It was quite the show as they waved fingers at peaceful protesters. There was even one ornery couple shoving their way through old ladies on the sidewalk and yelling for them to get out of the way! Trump supporters seem to be quietly embarrassed or offensively angry. I can’t wait for the next rally!

Politics are not discussed on the corner in the morning or at neighborhood get togethers. My party included the trump-signed neighbors and we had a lovely time. One of the most obvious ones asked me quietly if I would accept an invitation to come to his house for a drink sometime. I couldn’t say “sure” fast enough. Of course, that was only after I told him with a straight face that I only drank single malt scotch, preferably 12 or more years old. He apologized that he may not have any of that, so I assured him I would bring my own and was looking forward to the invitation.

So I better get this off. Get more steps in on my way to 7,000. And have a few leftover meatballs with wine for lunch.

Til later….

Marla was here for just a few days and was such a help!! I run all my decorating ideas past her. And if approved, she gets the ladder I no longer can climb and makes the adjustments. This time it was mainly the sunroom. I so wanted that old wire and wood birdcage with the fish. So…

We ordered cafe curtains to block neighbor’s gas tank. They arrived today.

Then she climbed the ladder again to move my good woman sign from the laundry room to the sunroom.

Lee found this sign sitting against a large disposal bin at the dump and thought I might like it. At my old place it hung in my studio. Here I just wanted to see it more often…who spends time in a laundry room! Then a bit more tweaking and the sunroom is perfect!

This garden tool was bought in Australia. The proprietor of the shop asked why I wanted it. I said I like old rusty things. He said, “Don’t you have rusty things at home?”

And the bamboo root face carving got moved. These are no longer that easy to find.

Then we framed and hung a couple of pieces. This one is now right there when I walk past it through the door to my studio.

And the view into the bathroom while sitting on the bed pulling on socks.

And one of the days while we were working around the house, a man came to take my car away to do detailing. Which means he cleaned out dirt, dust, grime from the last fifteen years that accumulated. It looks brand new after he spent five hours on it.

I took Marla out to dinner to give it a test drive. It is fun to try the latest cocktail being tested by the bartender.

It was a basil martini with salads and a full assortment of appetizers.

Afterwards Marla fixed us her favorite drink…a Negroni.

The next day we walked along the river and stopped at RareBird, my favorite coffee shop. But I will show those pictures of a foggy river and total indulgence next time.

While deciding that it was time to put the dictionary away because where I live it is always mistaken for a bible on Lee’s Information Center, I found this old writing from 1993 that is very much a good follow up on my handwriting and loss of cursive writing being taught. It will be an essay in my next book of short stories and poetry.

 

Letters – a journal entry by S. Webster (1993)

 

Letters. We don’t write them very much anymore. Just notes on postcards or a line or two on greeting cards that we choose because it reflects a sentiment we feel but don’t want to commit to handwriting. Then there’s those dreadful computer-generated newsletters. There’s something quite cold and impersonal about them regardless of the intention. Without the personal involvement that handwriting brings, these become less sincere at communications from the heart.

I miss receiving real letters that contain real feelings, observations and opinions. And what’s worse, I miss writing them. Now the urge to record those things is directed to a personal journal. But here, there is no feedback. It’s a one way conversation and I don’t have the accountability. No one will dispute or question or ask to know more. Furthermore writing and recording in a journal seems so much more permanent and unalterable…not like a letter that is stuffed in an envelope, stamped and sent off onto a tenuous journey to anywhere.

The best letters I ever wrote were sent to my mother. I didn’t really think much about them over the years. I liked writing and in a letter my thoughts were not interrupted by, “Yes” and “Really?” as in a phone call. The whole scenario could be played out, complete with punctuation marks to make a point or require a response.

I had known for some time that my mother had always kept my letters in a large box. And as her health failed and she ceased to write back, she would drop my latest letter in the box and pull out others at random to read and re-read.

When she passed away recently the box was sent to me. I knew it was coming and braced myself for a great wave of sadness. There was still so much in my life that I wanted to share with her.

With great trepidation I opened the carton and looked at the piles of envelopes and cards. Everything was there. My whole adult life. From sixteen years of age through twenty-five years of marriage and the rearing of two children. Even the photos of family, friends and artwork were there. She kept it all. I was never so completely hit by who I am and how I got here. It was all documented by my own words.

Rather than sadness as I randomly pulled a letter out, I became lost in my own history. There were very little of my own thoughts and feelings that were not there in that box, recorded exactly as I felt at the time, and shared with the one person who would accept them all unconditionally. And hold them close for years to come.

I remember a line in a movie where one of the characters said she had to go and write a letter to her father. When asked, “Why don’t you just call?”, the response was, “Because when I hang up, he has nothing to hold onto.”

My mother held these letters for years and now I have them back to read and laugh and cry as I hold them close and remember. I am going to miss writing letters to her.

Marla also helped me sort out the work space in the garage and took loads more things home for her various art groups to use. The rest of my teaching workshops books, ie. Content and Containment of Intimate Spaces. That was such a fun full week workshop! She also took many, many more book samples of various bindings and alternative materials. Plus three pedestals for the shops she helps out with. So happy to see these efforts continue to be useful!

Better go…need to refresh my wine and Marla should be checking in soon that she reached her destination for the day in Ohio.

Til later….