"Sunday Morning Coming Down"

Today is the 6-month mark since I lost Wayne. In some ways it might as well have been 6 years. I think of all he's missed in that 6 months. A lot of it has happened right here, in what was supposed to be our retirement home. All the things he hoped for us here have come to pass, and it makes me sorry he hasn't been here to realize it along with me. Even more than me, he was excited about moving here, to the Hill Country, in this smaller home where he, especially, felt he could relax, meeting new people, forming a social network that we hadn't had since we left the mountains. I was still holding onto the Oregon dream. Right up until the week before he died, I was still looking at places online there, in our dream town of Florence, Oregon. On reflection, with all that has transpired, I'm glad we didn't throw all our eggs into that one basket. The house in Yoakum is about to close, which means we would have still been waiting to make that big move, because it would have taken everything to live there. And I have made some great friends here, so I treasure the thought of knowing he was right about coming here. 

I've gotten to a stage now where I am trying to let him go. Not in my heart and memory, but in the physical, functioning world he left to me. I've replaced some of the things he brought into our relationship with things that feel like mine, now. It's not easy to find a meaningful path forward, but I'm working on it. 

Still not writing. I'm thinking about it, though, trying to formulate a story idea, but it seems like such a huge effort to start another novel. And I'm still not certain of my ability to give it the concentration it requires. There have been other times in my life -- in the last 20 years -- when I have felt I would never write anything new. I do have a novel coming out at the end of this year, but it was finished last summer, before the move and that life-shattering night, so it reality doesn't count as new new. The reprint of Looking After Lily has been out for a month and I haven't done much in the way of promotion. It's another thing that feels like more effort than I want to give.

Looking forward, I have a trip to Hawaii with my boys on the agenda. That's something great to anticipate. I've been trying to come up with a solo trip idea between now and then, just haven't settled on anything definite yet. I'm enjoying my kittens, missing my Sam -- he left me too soon, too. Bella and Rowdy are both sweet and loving, and are coming along with their "training," which mostly consists of keeping them off the kitchen counters and the eating tables. They're pretty good about not scratching anything but their posts and scratch pads. They've brought me a lot of joy and laughter. 

Sundays are still the hardest because it was our day, which leaves me with nothing but sorrow for the traditions we made, of watching CBS Sunday Morning with our coffee, afterwards our big Sunday breakfast, and then whatever home-time project we had planned together. I miss the conversation the most. We never stopped talking, for all the years we were together. We solved the world's problems, rehashed scientific discoveries, relished learning some new bit of history together. We had different tastes in music, in books, in movies, in style, but on the important things, the things that matter, we were sympatico. 

As Kris Kristopherson wrote in the song Johnny Cash made famous, 

"There's somethin' in a Sunday that makes a body feel alone..."

Onward ....

First Blog of 2023: a Writing Process

 I made no New Year's resolutions for 2023, except for maybe to clear out the clutter—physically and mentally. We are continuing to work towards trying to move to Oregon, although that still seems a long way in the future. We have our bay house for sale, and there hasn't been much action on that. Wayne is putting his land on the market next week, fingers crossed on that. I know it's been a tough decision for him, and not an easy slog to try to get it ready. He keeps coming across personal momentos from his life that make it more difficult for him. It's always been his home base, and was given to him by his parents. But there comes a time to move on. I think I've heard something like that before.

The plan is for one (or preferably both) to sell quickly, take the proceeds to Florence Oregon and find a house so we know where we're going and can downsize accordingly. Then we get our primary house listed and start selling off—for real—furniture and other overage we no longer want or need. No matter how you plan it, though, things don't always fall so neatly into place. We're aware of that, and also aware of time creep—meaning "we're not getting any younger." We're going to make another trip to Florence in three weeks. We have never been there during the winter and it's time to see what that's like, although we do keep daily tabs on the forecast and temperatures. It's a mild climate for Oregon. The real estate agent said Florence lies in the Pacific Temperate Rainforest zone, and judging by the slight variation in day and night temps, I think she must be correct. The only other place I can think of where there is only a few degrees of change during a 24-hour period is Ireland. Anyway, it's where we believe we want to spend our Golden Years. The weather isn't perfect anywhere, least of all where we live in Texas. As shown in the picture below—our backyard last summer, Ugh!

Meanwhile, I am in the middle of a (what—10th, 12th, or 100th) read-through edit of my next novel. My agent submitted it to a couple of publishers last Spring, got kind rejections but rejections nevertheless, and so I hired an editor to give it a look. She gave me a really thoughtful analysis and now, with her suggestions in mind, I'm going through and tweaking parts that need tweaking. Not all her suggestions rang valid to me, and those I'm leaving unchanged. It's alway smart to have another set of eyes on something. This novel is such a departure from anything I have written before that I wanted someone who was totally unfamiliar with my work. This novel is so different I have, in fact, been kicking around using a pseudonym. One minute I feel that yes, doing that would free the story; the next minute, I'm like—well, I wrote it so I should take the credit or the criticism that comes. I'm not a big-name writer anyway so what the heck—although I do have a small circle of loyal fans who have stuck with me for 30 years. Thank you to all of you if you are reading this. It gives me great joy to hear from you from time to time.

So back to working on this novel. I'm at the place where I always have doubts. Writer-friends of mine will know exactly what I mean. The sentences are smooth, images pretty clear, but does it sound a little smarmy? Too predictable? Overly melodramatic, or maybe it's too understated? As I read through this millionth draft I am still mortified that I actually let anybody read it in this condition. Some of the scenes are less than dynamic, some seem even a little sophomoric. I know, deep down, that this is a normal reaction for me at this stage, and that I have to slap away that naggedy little editor whispering in my ear, telling me I'm a washed-up writer, that this is a piece of crap and I should just stick it in a drawer and forget about it. 

However, this particular novel has already done a lot of drawer-time. I actually started writing it way back, even before LILY. Dashed off a quick, sloppy, first draft, dusted my hands and stuck it away. I might have thought about it once or twice in the ensuing years but didn't really linger on it until I started trying to clean up my office during the pandemic: all the boxes and bins of old correspondence, contracts, scraps of notes, etc. There were several unfinished manuscripts in that clutter, but this was the only one that inspired me to give another go, to try to untangle plot-lines that went nowhere, to flesh out the characters, brighten up the settings. After I worked on that a while, it seemed to be getting better. Several more walk-throughs continued to help, especially with the addition of sensory details. And then, after several months of this, a lightbulb went off in my brain, and I finally FINALLY figured out what the hell it's about. A whole new spin began there. Once I had that, I was going full speed, writing those million drafts. 

I'm blogging about this here because I have been asked to do more writing blogs so I thought I would share my process. Everybody has their own, and this scattered one I've described is mine. I'm not a naturally gifted writer who can put down fabulous words from the outset. I have to write several drafts, each one a little less terrible than the previous, agonizing over works like "the, or should it be an" until it starts gelling for me. If I knew from the first minute I put pen to paper, or word to computer screen, what was going to happen in my novels, I would probably never write at all. I like discovering where it's going as I write it, just like I enjoy discovering a story as a reader. Guess that's why I can never be a mystery writer. I don't know how to plot. 

Onward....

A Look Back Over 2022; A Christmas Letter

If you already received this letter inside a Christmas card, just disregard this, it's the same (except for the pictures):

Twenty-twenty-two has definitely been a better year than the two that came before, at least for us. Our first great-grandbaby was born on October 10: Rey Marie. She was a big girl at over 8 pounds, and was born to Brooke, Wayne’s granddaughter, and her husband Colt. They’re the pair who live in St. Croix, so we have not seen this new baby whom Wayne has already named Sugarpie to compliment his nickname for her mom, Honeypie. They are coming to Texas in January so we will finally get to lay eyes on this precious addition to the family. 

Also in October, the 30^th Anniversary Edition of LILY came out in trade paperback. Hard for me to believe it has been thirty years already since it debuted, but time does march on, as they say. It has a lovely new cover and I’m pleased that it was printed in big bold type so more people can read it and enjoy it again. Maybe it will find new readers, who knows. 

In August, in celebration of Wayne’s 75^th birthday, we returned to our beloved Florence, Oregon for a week of seafood and beautiful views. The VRBO we rented overlooks the Siuslaw River (pronounced Sigh-You-Slaw) a mile upstream from where it empties into the blue, blue Pacific. We spent a lot of our time just sitting out on the balcony watching the harbor seals and shore birds, as the tide came and went. We especially enjoyed watching cormorants dive for food. The water is so clear there you can see them underwater as they dart after the little sunfish they seem to relish. They’re terrific fishermen but it also turns out they’re gluttons. I stopped counting at 14 minnows one bird caught in 45 minute. 

We would love to find a way to move to Florence permanently, but the disparity in housing costs will probably keep us here. We have put our little bay house on the market, but we needed to do that anyway. Insurance on that place cost three times what our house in Yoakum costs, and I have tired of holding my breath all the way through hurricane season every year. We’ve had it eight years and I will miss it as my writing retreat.

Our flight from Eugene Oregon back to Austin went fine until right before we landed, when our flight was suddenly diverted to Houston Hobby. There were supposedly supercell thunderstorms in the area, although we later learned there were also some mechanical issues with the plane. They put us on a new plane in Houston and we got back to Austin at 2:30 in the morning instead of 10:30 as scheduled, and still facing a two-hour drive home. Several other planes had been diverted and it became a free-for-all in baggage claim. I was wearing a mask but Wayne was not. And of course, two days after we got home, after being completely vaxed and double-boosted, we both came down with Covid. It was, thankfully, a light case for both of us. Our doctor prescribed Paxlovid (a miracle drug) and within a few days we were well and testing negative. 

April was another big time for us. Mid-month we left on an 8-day cruise up the Rhine River. Stuart and Mark met us at the Amsterdam airport and we all shuttled to the boat. This was our second Viking cruise and we really love the excursions, the slower pace, the fewer passengers at only 225 people, the delicious gourmet food. These river cruises are a relaxing, easy-going way to travel. We loved the Rhine but think we loved the Danube in 2019 just a teensy bit more. We have now traveled to 13 countries and figure we need to add one more to get to a luckier number.

Also in April, my book FOR LOVE AND GLORY came out. It has been a long time coming and I was thrilled to finally see this novel I worked on, intermittently, for nearly 20 years come to fruition. I loved my editor, my designer, but have learned how hard it is to get a book noticed now, and into bookstores and review magazine. The publishing industry has undergone a dramatic change since my last book came out, but as I tell all my friends “I’M BACK, BABY.” I have been surprised at how many of my old fans have sent me texts and messages with well-wishes. 

In April, our cat Sam turned eight. It’s so hard for us both to believe he could possibly be that old already. He brings us loads of joy, and is still the same silly, lively play-kitty he was when we got him. In fact, I don’t think he realizes he’s not still a kitten. 

So here’s to another great year! I hope everyone flourishes and finds new joy in their lives!

ONWARD....🍷🍷

The Oregon Trail

 It has been a miserable summer in Texas. It shows all over our yard and in our gardens. The tomato season was abruptly interrupted at the end of May, an unreasonable date for production to end, but we had already had several 100+ degree days by then, and the plants were dying. Birds were eating the tomatoes as fast as they could make, while they were still green. In total aggravation, I gave up. I tore the plants out of the ground, filling up the composter! I have never had such a disastrous tomato crop, ever!

Now, three months later, record temperatures have been broken over and over. Sometimes the indoor/outdoor thermometer in my kitchen shows as high as 115 degrees in the backyard. The grass is barely alive, and that is after running up the largest water bill to date on this house, just desperate to save the roots. Most of my potted plants have also died. A neighbor and I have noticed that even with watering every day, some of the plants have simply shriveled in the hot wind. Last time I paid attention to the news we have had 63 days of temperatures of 100 or more, and that is also a record. The lack of rainfall since the beginning of this year has made it all that much worse. In July we got .02 of an inch, and August so far hasn't been a whole lot better.

People started talking about global warming in the 1970s. Maybe it was sooner but that's when I recall hearing about it for the first time. Jimmy Carter had solar panels installed on the roof of the White House, which of course, Ronald Reagan had removed almost immediately. The petroleum industry turned the whole matter into a political issue and so it has remained for some reason, because people don't always recognize when they are being manipulated by big business. But I don't see how anyone can deny the weather is changing. They point to the fact that we have these blistering cold snaps, another thing that never happened until recently, so global warming is a hoax. But that happens exactly because the polar caps are warming and that arctic air droops down into areas of the world it never used to reach when it stayed nice and firmly frozen in place, sort of like how your glass of ice water gets the coldest just before all the ice has melted away.

Anyway, this heat – desert creep, I've heard it called by meteorologists – has Wayne and I yearning for the wonderful summer weather we enjoyed when we lived in the Southern Rockies. The problem for me there was the altitude, not the weather. I couldn't breathe and it didn't get better. The longer we stayed the harder I found it to get a breath. So we came back to Texas – and both of us have pretty much been complaining about it ever since we arrived. 

In 2019 we took a trip to Oregon – because I had never been and we both wanted to see Crater Lake. I've always had a fascination with the Pacific Ocean so we made sure to spend a lot of time on the Oregon coast, and we both fell in love with a little town midway down the coastline named Florence. We stayed in a B&B style inn on a hill with a fabulous view of the town, the harbor, and close enough to walk to Old Town restaurants. Our room had a little kitchen so we visited a local supermarket and made a charcuterie tray and drank some wine from one of the Willamette wineries we had visited. We slept with the windows open. It was a gorgeous weather, blue skies and cool nights. We walked on the beach. We noticed a lot of retirees there. We even came back at the end of our circular trek around Oregon for a last look before we flew back to Texas. 

Then the pandemic struck. We daydreamed about that October in Oregon. And we planned another trip as soon as travel became a reality again, This time, we vowed we would stay in Florence the entire time and use it as our base camp. In 2021, we did just that.

This time, October again because we were spending our "anniversary" there – this time, the weather was horrendous. A howling wind came off the ocean and ravaged the deck on the VRBO we had found online in Old Town. We didn't even venture out at all for one entire day other than to dash across the street to have dinner. We moved all the deck furniture up against a wall to keep it from flying through the picture window. Once the brunt of the storm had passed, on our second whole day, we drove up to see the Sea Lions we had missed on our first trip. The ocean was misty from the crashing waves rolling in. It looked like a scene from a science fiction movie, something from outer space. I could barely keep my fearsome, awestruck eyes off of it. The sea lions, of course, were nowhere to be seen. They're not dummies.

And yet, this fascination with Florence, Oregon has not abated. We are headed back in one week. We have been scouring Realtor.com and Zillow since May. We have been giving worried glances at all the stuff we have accumulated since we've been back in Texas – not to mention burdensome real estate we have attached ourselves to. We are actually, at our age, thinking of a big cross-continent move from Texas to Oregon – if we can figure out how to make it work. We will be doing yet another HUGE downsize if we do this, but we've got an appointment with a real estate agent while we're there, and we will see just how committed to a move we feel once this trip is over. If we do it, this will absolutely be the LAST move for us so we have to find a place that is awesome – a place that ticks all the boxes, as they say on HGTV – a place that makes enough sense to us to plan another god-awful long-distance move. 

Onward…