Gardening Day and In My Mind

My SO is home. What a relief! I felt like I didn't have a minute last week, didn't realize how much he does around here until he was gone. Yesterday I was able to spend three whole hours tinkering in the greenhouse and around the yard. It was glorious.

There are little seedlings in abundance out there. At this rate, I'm going to have to give away plants. We weeded and tilled the garden space, and put up the new composter. Previously, we had only a ring of wire he had banded together, but amazingly there was compost at the bottom, even being so neglected as that little pile has been. We spread the bit of compost out on the garden before he ran the tiller. Then he went in to shower and I continued to tinker. I think I need a shredder. I had to snip up the yard cuttings with my pruning shears. But it would all compost better if it were shredded. Plus, we're about to be awash in live oak leaves again. Oak leaves just don't break down quickly, so if I want to use any at all as compost, I'll need a shredder.

I guess it's a leftover from the nursery days in San Marcos, but I find piddling with plants calming, and just a really good way for me to relax my mind. There's such pleasure in watching inert seeds you've planted sprout into a living thing. Every Early Girl tomato seeds have come up. The scalloped squash seeds saved from last year's crop are stout and healthy. The new Burpee green and yellow squash seeds are beginning to break ground. So are Daddy's seedless tomatoes, planted just last Sunday! Pepper seed won't germinate until the soil warms up, or so I've been told. I don't like the seed mix I planted them in, though, and wish I could begin again with my latest discovery -- that African Violet Mix is an excellent seed starting mix. I sprinkled a teensy bit of the organic fertilizer for seedlings that Burpee sent along with my order. But I sure do wish I had been saving empty 6-pack planters all this time. I must've thrown away dozens since we've been here. I've been using egg cartons with the tops removed and a drain hole poked through the bottom with an ice pick. They seem to be working quite well. We'll see how they do once it's time to transplant into the garden.

My SO also dug a little circular garden around a dead peach tree stump. He wants a Four O'Clock bed because he's always had one in places he has lived. I understand. I am trying to recreate, in spirit, the daylily bed I had at my last house -- the transition, live-alone house. I planted daylillies right after I moved in there, and two and half years later, the bed was spectacular. I have a larger space for them here, and I keep adding more varieties. I think the lily is my favorite flower. Must've inherited that from my mother. She loved Easter Lillies, and every year when garden centers and grocery stores put them on sale after the holiday, she would buy them up by the dozen. The year she died was probably the most amazing bloom year she'd had with those Easter lilies. Sad that she wasn't alive to witness the fruits of her labor.

Got my Texas gardening magazine a few days ago. It struck me as I was reading it, that here is another venue for me to submit a freelance piece. I could write about having a backyard greenhouse. This is the second small greenhouse I've had, so I do have tips and experiences I could share. As I was reading the articles and checking the various writers' credentials, I realized I probably have enough, by accident, to qualify myself as a valid contributor, having co-owned a growing nursery, having worked as a salesman for a two wholesale nurseries, having managed a foilage greenhouse for a garden center. Don't have the fancy horticultural degree but do have the hands-on experience. I'm going to pursue this. I'll get their writing guidelines for a start.

Wish I could get as much writing done in reality as I do in my mind.

Onward ....

Spread Too Thin

Practically the first thing this morning, I netted a dead fish out of one of the aquariums. A golden platy that I've had for a while. Seems like 2010 is not shaping up to be as good of a year as the last two have been.

There was white frost on everything, almost like snow. There were a few flurries yesterday, which I noticed on the drive home from the animal hospital. Had to take the kitty in, an emergency this time. His regular doctor wasn't there, but I really liked the one I saw. She seemed especially thorough. Put the cat on an IV drip for the afternoon, took X-rays and a more exhaustive blood workup. Part of the results will be in today, the rest Saturday, and he's scheduled for a sonogram of his intestinal tract next week. He's been a very sick boy, but seems to feel better this morning. I was reduced to forcefeeding him with a syringe of high-value pate last night. This morning he's eating on his own, seems to have an appetite, almost like he's decided that he'd better eat or he'll have to endure that hated syringe down his throat again. Wasn't a fun experience for either of us.

The cattleguard was icy, and I sort of tiptoed over it going after the newspaper, which was also icy. Dog ran through the knee-high field of rye grass. Tracks from our Sunday joyride in old Henry were still visible. I would mow but my sweetheart hasn't shown me how to start the tractor yet, and since it's older than I am, I'm certain I'll need some instruction. He can make any old piece of junk machinery run. It's amazing -- but he can't hang a towel rod straight in a bathroom. We each have our jobs, our calling. I'm actually better with an instruction booklet and a screwdriver than he is, as I learned building the greenhouse, but forget me when it comes to anything with a motor.

The damned free heater that came with the greenhouse stopped working last night. It was 33 in there when I checked, but hopefully that's high enough to have kept away damage to my new seedlings. I'll have to set something else up in there today because the forecast is for another cold night. The birds don't seem to have noticed it's still winter. I saw a pair of cardinals fighting a few minutes ago. They're brilliantly red and ready for breeding. Already. Not even March. We've had a plethora of birds here this winter. Chipping sparrows primarily. They rose in a great flock from the rye as I walked down the driveway.

On the way back, the dog ran the herd of Axis deer across the fence. She can't get at them but I suppose they don't realize that, and they take off at full gallop when they see her. The males are fully antlered and seem to be in rut again. They followed, noses low and forward, after the females. I had already seen two new fawns the other day, frolicking just before sunset. But there was a brand new one this morning, hardly as big as the cat. So cute. They're furrier and chubbier than whitetail fawns. They have rounder cheeks. Much more spotted as well. You want to jump over there, grab one up and give it a hug.

Today is the last of physical therapy on my foot. I believe it's helped me but I'm still deviled by heel pain and the ping of that nerve behind my ankle twinging at some point during each day. I suppose it's another one of those things I'll learn to live with and manage. I've been massaging my foot each night before bed with Sports Cream and sleeping with a fuzzy bootie on it, at least I start out that way. I never know if the bootie will still be on my foot when I awake, or lost somewhere beneath the covers. The dog has been sleeping with me with the SO out of town. I hope she doesn't get it in her head that she can continue with this new habit. I'm sleeping on his side of the bed and she's on mine, which means I'll be out of a spot once he's back, so as soon as he's back, the gig's up. But she's such good company, always in a happy mood, always ready for whatever comes next. She has a great heart.

Something tells me that this is not going to be a writing week. Seems my life is reduced to tending to animals. Suppose I failed the gold platy on that score. I've decided that there are two kinds of people -- those that live for themselves and those that are the caretakers. I try to be both kinds, and it probably isn't possible to be successful at either when you spread yourself too thin, as my SO is constantly telling me I do. But I'm also a control freak so it's hard to give up on anything, or even to delegate duties to him when he's here. These are two areas I really need to work on with more diligence. I thought I was doing better but it's so easy to slide back into old habits.

Onward ....

What a Week!

I think this is the longest I've gone between posts here. This has been the week from hell. The cat has been deathly sick. He relapsed on Monday, going downhill fast. By Friday I really thought I was going to lose him. He went three days without eating, and has lost five pounds. This morning he began to eat a little again, and has been more like his old self, although he is still weak and still sick. Poor baby. He is very needy, but also wary of me because to him I'm sure I seem to be constantly medicating him, or doing something to him that he doesn't like -- for instance, shoving him into his carrier, which means yet another trip to the vet. This has been stressful for me, too, and I've been sort of short tempered and irritable. Upsets me to not be able to figure out the right thing to do for my animals.

This morning my SO left on another of his extended sales trips. At one time I had considered going with him on this one, but with the sick cat I would've had to cancel anyway. But I miss him already, miss his calming sensibility. Just got off the phone from him. He's heading right into a winter snow storm and doesn't know if he'll be able to leave his motel tomorrow morning. He's used to driving in snow, but I hope he'll be careful.

The other thing that's happened is we bought a travel trailer Saturday. We have been looking for about a year, had even considered a motorhome, but a travel trailer makes more sense. This one was an extreme sale -- brand new, but a 2009 and the dealer was anxious to get it off the lot. I feel like we stole it. We were planning to wait until we sold some of the SO's STUFF, the old motorhome he's had parked in a storage building, the "spare" Suburban, the weekend place he bought to use as a guest house at the coast, except that no guests to speak of ever came. We were going to sell all of this stuff and use the money to buy us something new, or almost new. The deal on Saturday reared its head, and we bit. Wrote a check. We've got all the STUFF for sale, so we'll pay back the savings account when they sell. We pick up the new trailer in 10 days, after the dealer's had the chance to make the alterations we requested. I'm excited. We're going to take it up into the Hill Country the second week in March.

Meanwhile, the Olympics started. I love the Winter Olympics and have had a hard time turning off the television, something that's not usually a problem for me. I have been planning to get some new writing done on some old projects while my SO is gone, but medicating the cat is taking a good bit of my attention. I did run the tracking number on the manuscript I sent out and the publisher has received it. Just have to ignore it or I will start to obsess.

Late this afternoon, I ran down to early vote. Feels nice to just be a regular voter after all those years of being an election judge and a precinct chair. The training does come in handy when it comes to operating the silly electronic machine they have in this county. But I had done my research, knew where all the candidates stood. Most were running unopposed, this being the primary election. The other side is the one making all the noise but I do hope my choice for governor makes a good showing. This state would be so much better off with him at the helm, but I'm pretty certain it will be one of the loudmouths.

I feel so disconnected from my writing. I plan to do better posting to this blog this week. It at least makes me THINK about writing.

Oh -- The greenhouse is full of germinating seeds. Have four trays of tiny tomato plants, and one of squash. The peppers and the other squash have not broken the soil yet. It's been fun to watch the birth of all these little plants. I hope I can pull off a real garden this year.

Onward ....

Heart Day

The day started out with a sweet back rub, and the dog hopping in bed to cuddle and ham it up. I let her out while my sweetheart made coffee. Kitty was meowing for his rubs and for me to swing his raffia toy around for him to chase. Very nice to see the shine in his eyes again, and to have him want to play. Miracle of medicine proven once again, hard as it has been to administer. Giving this cat a pill is almost impossible. I feel such a sense of accomplishment each time I succeed.

The animals were soon ready for the three of us to go down for the newspaper, and I obliged them. Happy that the kitty wants to go outside again, and of course, the dog has a gopher hole she needed to inspect for recent activity. I don't think she found any; there were deer tracks around the mound and no new exit hole, but she remained on sentry duty until I called her inside. On the way back from the cattle guard, there was a cacophony of birdsong. We've had such a cold hard winter, and yet it's colder and harder up north, so we have a plethora of new birds overwintering here this year. Fun to listen to all the different sounds as I came back to the house.

My SO had put a beautiful card and two boxes of chocolates on my pillow. Shame on him about those chocolates, but the card made me teary. I got out his cards, one each from the cat and the dog, and mine, a funny card not mushy, dammit. I also bought him some candy, a smaller box than he got for me. We ate chocolates for breakfast and watched Sunday Morning. Then we looked online at motorhomes. We have the itch, and will probably end up with one this time. In this frame of mind, we got dressed and went to visit some friends who have just bought a Minnie Winnie. Theirs is nice, but too big for what we want.

We ate lunch, grocery shopped for our big Valentine's steak dinner, and came home. I made a crustless coconut pie. It turned out yummy, maybe a little sunken in the middle, but it tastes good. He cooked his usual outstanding rib-eyes on the grill while I piddled in the greenhouse. I've got tomatoes coming up. Peppers and squash still haven't broken ground. We got the steaks off the fire and inside just in time. A norther came blowing in as we were eating. So instead of heading to the hot tub with our champagne and chocolate strawberries, we're watching the Oympics and trying to let our delicious meal settle. Champagne is still chilling. We'll open in as soon as I'm done here.

Sweet "heart" day. Our third together. I'm still as happy as I was at our beginning. We have a good life, and we both are fully aware of it day by day.

Onward ....

Fingers Crossed

OK -- so I worked all afternoon yesterday prettying up the children's book manuscript, incorporating some of the suggestions from various readers. I didn't think it would take me long to do, and it really didn't. I enjoyed being immersed in the work. Such satisfaction is always there for me, getting some writing work accomplished. I groomed the thing into as perfect condition as I can make it, wrote a cover letter, affixed an SASE, shoved it all into a big envelope addressed to the first publisher on my list -- a big house, with fingers crossed. I have absolutely no contacts at this house, so the manuscript will have to sink or swim on its own. It has been 20 years since I sent something out unsolicited. It feels a little daring and capricious.

As I was putting the packet together memories of all those early rejection slips came back to me full bore. I literally papered the walls of my little office with them. I had a corkboard wall on two sides of the room, which was a glorified storage room at the head of our garage in San Marcos. As each rejection letter came back, I pushpinned it to the corkboard wall. Back then it was affirmation. Now, I hope it won't be too distressing for me. I'm sort of putting my faith blindly in my writing ability, lining myself up to get shot down.

I actually do know an editor at the house I'm sending this to, but he's not in the children's department. And it's been eons since I've spoken to him. He used to be one of the editors at Algonquin, not mine, but I did meet him when I was in North Carolina, and have talked on the phone to him several times. I've no doubt he would remember me, but it seems sort of cheesy to contact him and ask for favors. So I've decided not to. Partly because I want my writing to stand up on its own. I think it would feel much less satisfying to pull strings to get this little book published. Besides, I did list my credentials in my cover letter. Hopefully they will be enough to raise the manuscript out of the slushpile, or at the very least, get a first reader's attention. Anyway, I'm going to try to forget that my "baby" is out there in mail hell, making its way to New York. I did put a delivery confirmation on it so I can track it online if my curiosity gets the better of me.

Control freak that I am, I don't want go through an agent at this point. My SO and I talked about this at length the other day. I think he believes I should get an agent, but I still have such a bad taste in my mouth from the last one. And I really do like to know what's going on with my stuff. I'm pretty business-savvy, negotiated my first two contracts on my own, and the last movie option on my own, too. I've got a lawyer who has educated himself about publishing contracts, and my CPA has also educated himself on the writing business, tax-wise and otherwise. Between the two of them I think I can get my questions answered and I'm certainly not afraid to ask questions. Oh ho, I really do have my hopes up here, already thinking about negotiating contracts. What confidence! Or is it conceit? Hmmmmm.

Speaking of contracts, I went ahead and signed a six month extension with the filmmaker. Really did not want to do it at first, had so many misgivings about the script, so she sent me the latest one. I read it while I was in Denver, made meticulous notes, mostly about my objections. In the end, though, I felt it had merit. The email I sent to her was forthright and detailed. I told her all the things I objected to and why, and incredibly, she did not make trite excuses like "that's Hollywood," which I have certainly heard before. She thought every point I made was valid, suggested ways she could rewrite the script to satisfy me and make the thing better. She is in the process of doing that now, promises to send her final draft to me by the middle of March, and I'm really just astounded at her openness and generosity.

While we were emailing back and forth, she had her producer email me also, giving me the straight scoop about where they are with this whole thing. They really seem convinced the movie will begin filming this summer. At any rate, I renewed the option through the end of August, with the up-front agreement that this will absolutely, positively be the last time. What do I have to lose really? If nothing happens, I still would like to write a script of this book, although I'm not certain it would be any better than the one they have now.

Which all makes me wonder about the possibilities of getting LILY back into print. I've had all the rights reverted to me, did that several years ago. If the movie does get made, it will probably be a simple thing to find someone to do a reprint. But I would really love to make that happen anyway, if possible. I wonder how one goes about finding a house that does reprints?

So ... I really am trying to amp up my writing career again. I do know I've gotten lazy. I'm as hard to start as an old Ford. But once I sit down at the desk, I can still make things happen. I just know that it's not as pressing to me as it once was, and I have a lot of ideas about why that's so. I know I keep saying this, but those ideas will have to wait for another, more introspective post than this one. For now, I'm going with hope.

Onward ....

Poor Sick Kitty

I post too much about my cat. I worry too much about my cat. I think maybe I love my cat too much. He's very sick. Was sick when we returned from our trip to Denver, although it took me a while to realize that. He's so good at hiding it. But the first thing I noticed when I picked him up was that he felt lighter, noticeably so. My SO pooh-poohed that idea, thought I was just over-reacting. But after a couple of days, I noticed he was really off his food. He kind of had been for a while, just sort of playing with it more than eating.

I went and bought some different food. Sometimes a change will get his appetite back. He gets bored with his kibble. But the new food wasn't helping. One morning when we got up, he had pooped in the living room floor -- weird behavior. Then he started yowling a lot -- more weird behavior, but not unheard of with this particular cat. Then I noticed him drinking an awful lot of water. I called the vet on Monday and made an appointment. His usual doctor wouldn't be in until Thursday. By then, the cat had taken to hiding in the corner of the office to take his naps, a sure sign that he was ill.

Yesterday the vet told me my kitty has infected teeth. He took some blood, told me to come back in the morning for emergency extractions. I took my baby off his food last night when I went to bed. He was complaining this morning, didn't get his treats, and his bowls were all missing. I had trouble getting him back in the carrier.

We got to the vet's office, and rather than dropping the kitty off the way I have done in the past, they put me in an exam room, too. The doctor came in and told me the blood work looked very bad, and that he was postponing surgery for three weeks. He showed me all the numbers, platelets were low, hemoglobin low, and hemostat also low. He gave my cat three shots, and a pill, some liquid B-12 vitamins, clipped his nails after Trouser laid the doctor's hand open. I was sent home with the pills and the liquid. I've given liquid before, the pills are going to be a challenge. This cat doesn't medicate easily.

Back in the car, I threw the blanket I took a;long with us over the carrier so he wouldn't yowl all the way home. He whined a little, but seemed to be calming down, until we were almost home, and then the yowls got panicky and I knew something was up. I lifted the blanket in time to see him vomiting. We live 25 miles from the vet, so I'm hoping this was just a case of car sickness. Plus, he had the pill and liquid medicine on top of an empty stomach.

I called ahead to warn the SO that we were nearly home and to put the dog in the bedroom. Last thing I needed was her pushing her snooping nose up to the carrier like she did yesterday and upsetting the kitty even more. SO did that, helped me up the stairs where I set down the carrier and opened the door. Trouser was yowling again but he exited quickly. A few minutes later he vomited again. He is up there now quiet, and seems to want to be left alone. I have to go to PT this morning anyway, and the SO is running erands. Maybe my kitty will be a little better when I get back.

Sigh!

Onward ....

The Business End

It's the business end of writing professionally that I find dispiriting. Will it sell? Who will it sell to? Why did that marketing strategy work, or not? How many copies to put in print, how much promotion to do, speaking engagements, book signings, agent hassles, subsidiary sales, contract negotiations. All of that and more, are some of the reasons I stopped writing. Everything about it works against creativity. It's why bestselling writers do their "search and replace" novels -- one so much like the last one that they later become indistinguishable in a reader's memory.

Paradoxically, as an aspiring writing, I believed the business end would be the part I would like, where I would excel. I daydreamed about sitting in a book store signing my name on the inside of my just-published novel. And in fact, there's very little like the anticipation of having a new book come out, the elation of seeing your work in its final form, typeface set so perfectly, the glossy dust jacket, your name in some fancy font. I never minded the process of getting something from acceptance to publication. I enjoyed dealing with all of my editors, appreciated their input, and truly believe that they all contributed to making each book better than it was before it reached their desks. But once the publication date arrived, deflation began.

I have sat in those book stores when nobody comes through the door. I've directed people to other books they were hunting on the shelves and I've had inept conversations with prospective buyers in the hope I could coerce them into purchasing my book before they left the store. I've sat in malls with people passing by, giving me an avoiding berth. I've whored myself to the process, and have yet to figure out the value in it.

To write well, a person needs solitude, quiet time to hear yourself think. If there's too much hustle and bustle creative brain cells are stifled. The racket of life can leave us feeling estranged from ourselves. We stop understanding what it is we want to say, or why we felt we had something to share in the first place. We detach. I've never felt as detached as I have on a book tour, putting my physical self on display, answering impossible questions from well-meaning people. And after all those months of quiet solitude, of getting in touch with yourself to create the thing you're sent out to publicize, the switch doesn't come easily. That first speaking engagement, the first time, after so long away, that you sit at the book store table, pen in hand, face set in a constant smile, all of those things run counter to the solitude. You feel sort of sleepy-eyed, like a mole emerging from its underground den. The publicity part -- the business end -- makes me feel inadequate. Some writers are good at it, but not many, and I am certainly not one of them.

Maybe I should follow the lead of my good friend in Boulder and write just for me. Maybe that's the reason I get such satisfaction from this blog. Maybe I should stop trying to get anything published, ever, and leave my pages for posterity, even if that posterity consists of family members only.

The truth is, I never stopped writing, I just stopped publishing. That's the fact of it anyway. I wrote my way through the pain of my last divorce, and through the wonder of reawakened love. I wrote all those book reviews so few people seemed to read. I wrote a fantastic number of emails and letters. Writing has always made me happy. It's the other part, the part that pegs a person a professional, that causes me anguish. At this late stage of life, I seem to be looking only for the joy. And maybe that should be enough.

Onward ....