1,000 Words on Upturned Stones

Yea for progress!

It was painful, I'll admit. I finally had the time to write, and nothing came. Even when I forced it, the result was gibberish.

Of course, I then did what every self-respecting amateur writer would do... or wait... I found my hubby and ranted a while. We have no time. When I have time, I'm too tired to write. Blah, blah, blegh....

Then, I went back in the yard, found myself a comfy chair in the sun, and I sat. While I sat there, my newly planted garden grew a bit. Puffs of cotton seeds from my neighbors oh-so-annoying cottonwood tree flew through the air at surprising heights. The effect of that white cotton zooming this way and that against a strikingly blue sky was strangely similar to the effect of snow in front of a car's headlights on a dark winter night. The wind blew cool, almost chilly air through our too tall grass while the warm spring sun threatened to burn my too pale, Minnesotan skin, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. The sitting. With no paper or pen, no computer, no kids, no book...

no multitasking.

After a mere 15 minutes, I was inside once again, typing away on Ruby.

Upturned Stones is now officially In Progress. It's opening was really quite surprising... exciting too.

With luck, and maybe a little sitting, I'll have no problem getting back into it tomorrow.

Again I say, yea for progress!

Photo Friday: Picnic Revisited

You could call it a "light lunch," I guess. The girls chased each other around the gazebo between every bite. I suspect they burned more calories than they consumed... But it was the perfect start to a summer of lazy days. Especially later, when we put the food away and brought out the new sprinkler!

Chicken Ladies Enemy Number 1: Rhubarb

Is the most thriving plant in Vegetable Village threatening to take out the chicken ladies?

A few days ago we un-cooped our hens to astonish and enthrall the neighborhood kids. I was surprised and more than a little alarmed when they headed straight for the rhubarb. As bushy and vigorous as this plant is, the chickens made lace of its leaves within a few minutes.

Rhubarb leaves are notoriously toxic to people and most pets, but the chickens seemed unphased after their feast. Too preoccupied to Google the matter, I spent a nervous night wondering if they would make it to dawn.

Thankfully, they survived, but now that I've done my homework, I'll be defending the chickens from the rhubarb, and the other way around, for the rest of the summer.

Rhubarb is on this list of plants toxic to chickens.

The leaves are full of oxalates that can cause kidney damage, cardiovascular problems, and a plethora of other issues. The effect is much more pronounced in people, but some chickens that grow fond of the leaves (as ours have) can suffer cumulative poisoning as well.

Good thing I finally did my homework! Hmmm, now, where did I put my rhubarb cake recipe?

Sputtering

You may have guessed....

I haven't posted in ages. Just as I bragged that my company was worn out by my girls, I realized that I was worn out by my company.

I accomplished almost nothing in the past few weeks. Well, I outlined a few key scenes and stole some good dialogue from my guests. Beyond that, though, nothing.

Time to get that A## In Seat time. The next few weeks are free, my garden is planted, and the days are long. Whether I'm "in the mood" or not, I'm going to make some real progress before this "work in progress" ends up next gathering dust with my tennis rackets and calligraphy kit.

Victory at Vegetable Village

In my experience, it takes a village to accomplish nearly anything with young children under foot. Somehow, the village came together over the last few weeks and our family victory garden is officially planted.

Of course, the girls themselves were enthusiastic contributors. Elliot fell in love with the process, though she shows a certain lack of understanding. She now plugs any seed-shaped objects she can find into the nearest soil-like substance. (Mind your earrings near the sandbox, please!)


Maya has been a wonderful apprentice, carefully following my lead and planting more than half of our treasures. She is particularly fond of the snapdragons the she selected, planted, and watered all on her own.


Maya also spearheaded a planting expedition with the new neighbor kids. Nothing says "Welcome to the neighborhood" quite like sharing a few rows of edamame!

With four of the last five weekends booked at the ever-exclusive Chateu de Aadland, our guests have offered their own contributions ranging from helpful advice, to cuttings, and even a set of uniquely engineered tomato cages that will soon support next winter's marinara supply.

It doesn't look like much yet, but Vegetable Villiage is taking shape. Current residents include various peppers, tomatoes, potatoes, green and purple pole beans, red and yellow corn, yellow squash, zucchini, patty pan squash, cabbage, pak choy, kalarabi, swiss chard, carrots, beets, raddishes, spinach, lettuce, cucumbers, watermelon, asparagas, sweet peas, edamame, basil, thai basil, parsley, cliantro, rosemary, and other various herbs that I'm blanking on at the moment.


Now we just have to sit back and watch it grow. Well, that, and defend the tender seedlings from ferocious weeds. Good thing we have a village.... and a lot of mulch!

Friday?

A quiet week for Growing.... that's for sure. But a busy one for growing things.

The garden is nearly planted, thanks to all my help. The coco hull mulch adds the most seductive fragrance to the backyard... mmmm... chocolate! And it nicely offsets the "Repels All" which perfectly protects my lilies, but is repellent for humans too, until it dried. I did learn something this week: don't spray the fox urine to repel the bunnies before planting peppers in a nearby flower bed. Bad, bad idea.

Expect more frequent posts next week! I'll throw up some pictures of the garden and my helpers and relay some of the cuter quotes we have accumulated.

First Memories

What is your earliest memory? How old were you?


I find it difficult to pin down those early memories; discerning actual memory from often repeated stories and well worn photographs is nearly impossible. I do have a couple of memories that must be real. No one has told me the story; no picture was taken. My best guess is, I was 3 or 4.

Friends of mine swear they have vivid memories from much younger ages.

I catch myself looking at Maya lately, wondering if this, right now, is it. Her earliest memory. Silly, idle wondering, I realize. But I'm curious. What will stick?

Lazy afternoons playing in the pool? We'll do that so much over the years, I'm sure those memories will run into one another. The same goes for Dance Party and Adventure Days, hopefully.

Maybe Maya will remember this morning, when she finally got her rhythm down and pumped the big girl swing without any help. She even refused to accept an under dog! Concentration and joy in equal measures lit up her face each time she leaned back, stretched her feet forward and said, "I'm big! Look at me! I'm a big kid."

After more than an hour, I had to bribe her inside for lunch with the promise of smoothies.


It's all I can do to keep myself from interrupting simple, happy moments in the sandbox. I'm so tempted to cup her little face in my hands and say, "remember this... this should be a stand out moment" even though the little daily rituals will almost certainly slip through the cracks.

That's fine, really. I will remind them with stories and pictures. I will help insert some of these excellent and completely unremarkable moments into their long-term memories.

Not to Worry

In my last post, I fretted about the parade of out of town company that could very easily derail my writing progress. Now that Well Beyond Waiting has regained a starring role in my writing time, it has a momentum of its own. I hope to see it through.

My worries completely overlooked the fact that constant toddler activity easily wears out unpracticed visitors. Somehow, the two main attractions that pull me away from writing, my busy kids and frequent overnight guests, effectively neutralize each other.

By noon, they all fall into a pile for nap time, giving me a little space to write.

Unfortunately, I'm struggling with the dialogue. For now I'm just putting down the core of what the character's are trying to say, but it doesn't sound "right" yet when I reread the material aloud. I'm a researcher... a studier... so I'm tempted to chase down the highest reviewed "how to write dialogue" book out there. Spend a few weeks studying up.

But no. Then the momentum would be lost and I'd be out of touch again, just as it has finally taken off. I'll save the research for the next lull in writers energy.

Photo Friday - Random Photo Shoot

It's that Time of Year...

In Minnesota, our short spring is essentially the dawn of summer. As the long lazy days yawn before us, tantalizingly unscheduled, it's easy to get swept up in the activity frenzy.

The apple trees are in full bloom!

A fellow mom sent me into a tizzy, commiserating, "Now that Maya is in preschool, she'll want to be in a lot of activities to keep her from being bored this summer, won't she?"

What? A bored almost-four-year-old? Or a bored one-year-old? How can that be possible?

Maya insisted on making scarecrows to keep the birds from eating our newly planted seeds. Never one to throw a wet blanket on an out-of-season idea, I found some instructions online.... and by the time the head was finished, her scarecrow craving was satisfied. And they are a bit scary, I must admit.

I'm gearing up for adventure days in area parks, picnics in interesting places around the cities, and bug-catching in our own backyard. Today two hours slipped by in the park while Maya and Elliot toggled between chasing robins and playing "house" under two huge pine trees, serving me pine cone tea. Another hour or so was buried in the sandbox, along with three sets of feet and, according to Maya, a freshly caught worm (yuck! but I think she was teasing :).

I have now overheard at least four conversations in which stay-at-homers compare their scheduled events. Nearly all of them have included at least one 6 week long day camp that is more involved than their current preschool, in addition to swim lessons, a summer long sporting event, and some kind of art class. That makes summer busier than the school year!

Suddenly, I started wondering if one week of swim lessons and one week of day camp was enough to keep Maya... from getting bored.

Add to that a fresh batch of mommy guilt: I enrolled Maya in afternoon preschool next year so I could write during Elle's nap time. This means Elle won't get ECFE classes (offered only in the morning) unless I take them both... Meaning either Maya would have 3 afternoons and 1 morning totally booked OR Elliot may not be properly educated because she will miss out on critical pre-K curriculum.....

Can you tell I started to spiral, a bit? My love of unscheduled time warring with the pressure to give the girls every opportunity. Luckily I didn't spiral anywhere near the edge. Elle herself stopped me.

While pushing her and Maya in the park swings, Maya started counting each push: 1, 2, 3.... Elliot chimed right in... 4, 5, (six vanished), 7, 8.... all the way up to 14 give or take a number (like six).

At 19 months, she's counting. She's counting pretty well. To my knowledge, no one has actively taught her to count. I don't show her flash cards or sing counting songs. We do count chedder bunnies at snack time or geese in the sky, because Maya thinks that is fun. And Elliot has picked it up.

Forget ECFE. Forget the overscheduled summer. Random bits of exploration and free play will be more than enough to keep them from getting bored and falling behind.

The rides at Como Zoo have opened, and Maya will see to it that we revisit as often as possible.

Me too for that matter!

A Fifth Dimension?

Anyone know of a good discount store selling extra dimensions of space and time?

Pass it on, if you do.

I have the energy to write. My muse is absurdly enthusiastic. When I grant myself time, the words come. Well, they don't pour forth from the ether, but I have an easy enough time shaping them to carry my intention.

With a gazillion out of town family members (and I'm not complaining here, I love these people) lined up for weekend visits through June... maybe through mid-July, I'm having a space/time issue.

The issue is that there is none!

I'm not alone in this, I realize. So forgive the rant, when it mirrors that of everyone else. But SERIOUSLY! Two little girls keep me awfully busy all day, so their nap time (about 1 hour overlaps) and after bedtime (about an hour there too before I'm a zombie.. though sometimes I'm lucky and it doubles) combine to equal my total daily independent adult time.

I devote it to writing as much as I can. Though, heh, the blog(s) factor in there. Obviously, though, I need to depend on weekends for longer blocks of writing time; the two or three hours blocks that help me work through bigger ideas.

I'm not sure of the aspiring, sort-of, would-be writer's protocol. Am I allowed to say, "hey lovely relative that traveled here to see me and my girls... I'm off for a bit of writing...." Part of me thinks it is okay, as most of the visitors are here for time with my girls. The rest of me is developing elaborate menus and activity plans to keep my guests enthralled.

Maybe this is another test of the "writing habit." Can it survive endless summer weeks of entertaining? I'd better prepare my excuses and pack my computer bag. Would my absence go over better if I bring back cake?

On another note completely... Prairie Apocalypse has now been tentatively renamed... for maybe the third time. This one is working for me, though... and makes more sense the more the story unfolds:

Well Beyond Waiting

Adventure Day: Expecting the Impossible

Every time my parents took me to the lake, I ended up swimming... In early May, late October, or any other time the ice didn't block my way.

As a parent myself, I can now hear the memory of their stern warnings more clearly than when I was running to the weedy, rocky shore we called a beach, kid brother and sister in tow.

"Don't get your clothes wet." "The water is freezing." "You CANNOT go SWIMMING!"




I always yelled something like "I won't" over my shoulder, even as I unlaced my high tops and rolled my jeans above the knee. Every time, we ended up soaked. It was usually early spring, when my parents were doing the work of opening the cabin... probably Mother's Day. The beach towels weren't even unpacked, and yet there we were, three soaked, muddy, shivering little people. At least one of the littler ones was probably an unwilling recipient of splashy horseplay.

During the soggy, heat blasted ride home, I always assumed my parents had expected it. We had been to the lake; what other outcome could there be?


Today, during our first adventure day of 2009 (a late start I'm embarrassed to say), I was the parent that accompanied two eager little girls to the shore. We picnicked, played on swings and slides, and hiked in the woods a bit. Then, as promised, we walked along the beach.

Just long enough for the shoes to come off and toes to get wet. And knees. And a bit more.

I am honestly appalled that I didn't expect it. I didn't even pack a towel. The girls were delighted by every splash, every shovel full of soggy sand.... No one fell all the way in, luckily (mostly because I kept a hand on Elle the entire time). And they ran around chasing butterflies all the way back to the car, so they dried off.


A sunny, splashy 60 degree day at Long Lake, and my legacy of water lust continues. Fantastic! From now on, I'll try to to expect the predictable... NOT a simple, dry visit to the lake.

Off to enroll them in some swimming lessons.

Fickle

Every writer has a fickle muse. Or so I hear. The tides of creative energy ebb and flow in the same unpredictable rhythms as every other passion and focus in our lives.

Unfortunately, my muse is a devious sabotage. Or an impish little kid. She consistently times it so that the ebbs coincide with my downtime and the flows try to sweep me away when I really need to be focused on other things.

As I manage my daily responsibilities, primarily nurturing and preventing the self-destruction of two small children, a shadowy place in my brain churns out random ideas, clever (perhaps) insights on works in progress, and questions for further research. I fill up pages and pages each day with snippets that I can't wait to connect or push forward.

Most days, when I finally get the AIS (a#s in seat) time to write, I'm reasonably productive. No fireballs of intuition. None of the dramatic word counts that seemed imminent while I waited for the grilled cheese to reach melty perfection. Just a bit of progress, may 1,000 words give or take, along with a few revelations that the day's ponderings helped create.

I can live with that.

It's more difficult to suffer old muse-y's latest prank. Endless piles of words, new stories emerging, characters coming into their own, all when I should be cleaning, entertaining, and generally enjoying out of town company.

I'd better end the post. You get the idea.... no time, no TIME, and loads of words. Must, MUST clean the loo, everything else can step in line behind the words.

Photo Friday - Disoriented!

My girl is seasonally lost! Though it is 60 degrees and sunny, she insists on staying inside to bake banana bread and do puzzles!


Actually, we made Banana Sour Cream Coffee Cake, a favorite of ours and the perfect breakfast treat for easy entertaining.

Seasonal Color

Maya found a clever way to bring color to the vegetable garden even before the seeds sprout.

We had quite the industrious weekend, somehow managing to clear and till, add compost, and dig walkways between the beds. Then Monday the girls helped me plant a few things: rows of peas and carrots, radishes and beets, and pots of spinach and greens (because Joe is sure I've served him weeds with homegrown salad and is suspicious unless it is grown in well-tended containers).

I have a lot of help in the garden... as you can see from the interesting way the sprouts have popped up. I'll have to try to transplant a few when I thin them!

I was out of string to mark the rows, and while I rummaged for remnants among my garden tools, Maya helpfully offered up her craft yarn. I realize it is not intended for seasonal durability, but it will last at least until the sprouts are established.


Until then, it looks awfully cheery back there!

I'm trying a self-modified version of Mel Bartholomew's Square Foot Gardening method, which worked pretty well for me last year. Dense plantings in carefully prepared beds keeps weeds down and makes the garden chores a little easier. With 12 eight foot by three foot beds within the bunny-proof garden fence, I don't mind losing a little planting space between the beds. I should have plenty to tend!

The only real drawback is mostly due to my own laziness. I haven't put support boards up around the beds, so they tend to look a bit like ancient burial mounds until the plants are well established. Yipes!

Thankfully, the brightly colored yarn livens the place up.

Almost

Still here! The blog was silenced to make room for actual writing amid a frenzy of creativity and a flurry of real world obligations.

I caught a bit of public radio this morning that got me thinking once again about an idea that teased me last summer. Have you seen the Seinfeld where..... Well, essentially on the sitcom Seinfeld they pitch an idea to NBC for a show "about nothing." And that is my novel idea. A terrible one, but it has tapped me on the shoulder repeatedly for almost a year. Maybe I should give it a second thought, though I can't imagine how it would work out.

Let me explain.

It's a joke, really, poking fun at this fad of writing experiential books... Surely you know the type.

Accountant quits job to build boat in his backyard and attempts to sail it around the world, then sells wildly popular book on the trials and tribulations of that (failed) experience.

Or nurse creates urban farm in backyard, including chickens, pigs, a goat and a large garden, in an effort to raise food independently... then sells wildly popular book on living off the land in the city while raising children.

The experiences, some extremely bizarre others increasingly commonplace, seem to be entirely manufactured for the sake of the books.

My fictionalized treatment of this might be titled "Almost," and the main character would feature a bright, energetic, well-meaning person who never quite takes things far enough. Not the sort of person that can't finish things. More like the person that begins something with a slurry of commitment and completes the project in the land of mediocrity. You know, like most people you have ever met.

The problem is, of course, that it would be terribly dull. But I chuckle every time I hear a new interview on NPR with an author that has just attempted to live off of apples and crab grass for three months to lighten her carbon footprint, and now is jet-setting all over the country to push her new bestselling book on the experience.

We could all be doing that... Almost.

Inner Nature

For the past two years, a family of cardinals has nested in the young pine tree above the girls' sandbox. In spite of their notoriously aggressive nature, we think they make great neighbors.

The girls love them because their bright coloring is easy to spot. We often mimic their harsh, whistling song, watch their babies practice flying, or the parents gather food. Joe and I share some nostalgic fondness for the animal that was once our high school mascot (and that of most of our relatives).

Maya helped set up the tent.... practice camping for her big birthday camping trip!

Unfortunately, the chicken ladies don't think the cardinals make such great neighbors.

Today all five of the juvenile cardinals snuck into the chicken run through a gap in the roof of the fence. True to their inner nature, the pushy cardinals darted around, fiercely and noisily pecking at the corn we had just laid out for the ladies.

Meanwhile, true to their own reputation, the ladies.... well, they were chicken. Within 30 seconds, they had all sprinted to the coop, with all the open-winged off-kilter hilarity of running chickens . The noisy, swirling attack of the cardinals didn't last more than a minute or two. They didn't clean up the corn, just had a taste, then flapped around ineffectually for a bit before rediscovering the way out.

Our ladies didn't work up the guts to leave the coop for a good 15 minutes. Even then, Maya and Elliot lured them with freshly plucked dandelions.

Lately, it has been so tempting to make these sweeping observations about the girls, their similarities, their differences, their inner natures. Maya the tender heart... Maya the helpful. Elliot the gleeful... Elliot the willful. Intellectually, I want to resist this urge. I would hate to box them into expectations or label them in some limiting way.

Is that sunscreen on the eggs?

But the chickens and the cardinals weren't the only ones demonstrating their inner natures today. Helpful Maya covered the newly harvested chicken eggs with sunscreen, so they wouldn't get burned in the basket while we took them inside. She also helped set up the tent for a little "pretend camping." Meanwhile, impish, gleeful Elliot was pulling up the stakes, hiding them in the sandbox, and then running laps... up the ladder, down the slide, up the ladder, down the slide.... Perhaps, this isn't an inner nature thing, just a 19-month-old and an almost-4 thing... Or a big sister little sister thing.

Either way it has been a highly entertaining morning.

It is close to 70 today, making Elle's thermal vest unnecessary...
but Maya had her camping vest on, and Elliot insisted that she have a vest too.

Photo Friday & May Day

We set off to deliver May Day baskets (including Maya's artwork, seed packets, and a few eggs) to a small number friends around the city.

Only one reached its intended recipient, the rest, at Maya's insistence, were set on porches in our own neighborhood. To our metro area friends.... come by for eggs and a May Day hug if you are feeling shorted...

To the rest of you, Happy Spring!