Summers that Have Been

I saw this bench on our way to dinner not far from where we’ll be moving in a few weeks. It has a spectacular view of the ocean. Throughout the night, I kept thinking about sitting on a bench with a message like that. Stirred a lot in me.

Do you see the message as simply sentimental or is there a lot more to it for you, too?

*post title from J.R.R. Tolkien's poem, I Sit Beside the Fire and Think

“I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen,
of meadow-flowers and butterflies in summers that have been;
Of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that there were,
with morning mist and silver sun and wind upon my hair.”

Preparing for the Big Move

I forgot how much goes into the pre-stages of preparing for a big move. It’s all coming back to me. Except this time we’re headed all the way across country, so we are making efforts to visit with the grandparents before we head west.

We sold the house, so now I guess we’d better find a new place to live.

I’m still relishing the special memories I have of my family spending time with my mom this past weekend. It’s fresh on my mind and heart.

For a comedic twist, I go to pick up our lively pup at the vet a little while ago only to discover she’s in heat. Did I mention I’m glad we sold the house?

Please forgive me if I’m a little MIA over the next few months. I’m still working on a novel I’ve been plotting and brainstorming for over a year, but this, doing this big move thing again after only a year, is taking a bit out of me.

Onward.

Personal Space

Have you ever been speaking with someone and they gradually inch closer and closer until you eventually feel compelled to move away? I distinctly remember a conversation like this in college. The more questions the guy asked, the more flexible I grew. It got to the point where I’d almost performed an impressive back bend. Think a scene right out of Incredibles.

Do you ever pay attention to personal space boundaries? Social cues? Body language?

Writing can become much stronger when an author considers the unique body language of each character. In turn, body language can exude so much about the internal life of a character.

One of my favorite parts about being a writer is the unashamed devotion I have to people watching. Studying close-talkers and mouth-coverers never ceases to fascinate, not to mention reveal. I’m constantly reading layers beneath what people are saying. 

My husband happens to be a hand-talker. Then there are the twitchers, the hair twirlers, the leg tappers, the knuckle-crackers, the lip-lickers, the sighers, and the pant-smoothers. With the same hearty sentiment as Tiny Tim, I say, God bless them, every one!

Roots?

My family is still on Hawaii time this morning as we dive back into routine and take on the day. There’s no way I could choose a favorite experience from our trip because so much of what we encountered the past few days has left a deep impression. A spattering volcano. A black sand beach. Raging waterfalls. A free-range horse ride, and stunning waves to name a few, not to mention the unplugged time together.

When we trekked down through a lava tube (a hole carved out underground from the fierce flow of lava) my eye kept gravitating to the roof of the cave-like tunnel. Long tendrils spiraled down over our heads. I asked our guide what the moss-like stringy roof décor was, conjuring stalagmites and glow worms in caves I’ve seen on nature programs.

The answer = roots.

Roots, of course. Because plants will grow where they will.

And I couldn’t think of anything else in the world that I can relate to more right now.

Why? Because we’re moving again. A year ago we signed the contract on our home in Georgia, and sometime in the next few months we’ll be signing a contract on a home in California.

I may not have roots planted in deep soil when it comes to a home town, but I have established memorable friendships and have garnered a strong sense of adaptability. I’m a pro at moving. But it comes with its own share of anguish, stress, fear, and raw emotion.

This song says it all . . .

Onward.