A Contemplative Life

In yesterday's post, I wanted to add a bit from the new story, but nothing grabbed me. This morning, reading over Chapter Five prior to writing, I found multiple things that required...assistance. Lol. With still one scene left to read, I'm first going to plop here what I've adjusted, in the hope of sharing a little more of Gilly Lund , as well as the photo above of Camilla caught napping from a few days ago. Below is what I worked on last night, the Warm Hearted Quilt back on the sofa and under my tutelage. Or the tutelage of a threaded needle or three. Maybe I'll write some today, or perhaps I need extra time to get back into the swing of writing. If nothing, else, I need to check the dryer, have some Metamucil, and definitely more caffeine. Enjoy this slice of where my fiction currently resides, in Northern California, autumn 1999. And have a peaceful day!     Chapter Five     Gilly Lund Whitlow was one of the last waiting to deplane, but within her mind conversa...

Recent additions to my Peace Round the World quilt. Greg and Hugh Lund and how did I write all this anyway.... With guests back in their own realms, this morning I sat to read what I'd been writing last month. Wow; where has this month gone? Silly question, but I throw it out there because it's already the thirteenth of July, DUDE! Okay, time warps aside, what I wanted to ponder was how sometimes love stories aren't about eroticism. Sometimes they're about familial rapprochement or merely recognizing how much someone means in our spheres. In reading over the five chapters of what's going on in the lives of Richard and Suze Lund, I was struck at how in two particular instances love within that family, but not Suze and Richard, drives the plot. Or it stirred something in me now a couple of weeks later. Love between brothers Greg and Hugh, between Richard and both of his sons. Love as meaningful as what's shared between spouses, but doesn't get the airplay that...

 Contemplating what drives someone to kill another person because of racial/ethnic/sexuality-gender hatred, and what if instead of hating the murderer,  we loved them? It's probably not what they want. They might prefer to be feared. Or loathed. They might act in heinous manners to further their malicious agenda, hoping their devious actions will continue to stir chaos, which could encourage additional misdeeds. I'm stitching hearts into little sections of quilt sandwiches, pondering the murder of Lorenzo Salgado Araujo in Houston, Texas earlier this week. Slowly affixing this quilt into one coherent cozy, kind of the opposite of what the person who shot Lorenzo Salgado Araujo in the chest did. And yet, I'm trying to not project anger on that ICE agent. I'm trying to extend grace while attempting to understand why ending a person's life seemed to matter more than allowing them to live. You might say, "Well you didn't know Lorenzo Salgado Araujo, so it's...

Written over the span of two days. Grandsons visiting. 'Nuff said.... Part One: While waiting revisions from beloveds on The Deadfern Miracles , I'm living vicariously through my eldest, currently on holiday in our former stomping grounds of England. My husband and our family lived in the UK for almost eleven years, and while hubby and I have visited twice in the last seven years, this is the first trip for any of our kids. So far it's a total WIN, despite the heat, both in London and further north. The grandgirls are finding their mama's childhood home quite the thrill, and my daughter and her hubby are happy, if not at times hot. Temps should cool down this weekend, but the British Museum was affected by the heatwave, several exhibit halls closed, and some exhibits removed. Of course, over five thousand people have died in Europe due to the heat wave, and I don't mean to diminish that. My granddaughters have found it odd how infrastructure exists for keeping peopl...

If we give everything away, we have nothing to lose. My BFF left early this morning, a few days of World Cup games, card games (gin rummy, which I'm hoping to teach to my eldest grandson), MUCH CONVERSATION amid football and gin rummy, and sharing last night's fireworks seated in the closed-off parking lot nearest to the Fisherman's Statue at the Woodley Island Marina in Eureka. We'd never taken her there, and she wandered over to the Fisherman, who honors those lost at sea. Meanwhile I snuggled under my Quilt of Grace as it was a marine layer evening that became a misty, breezy night as we waited for darkness to fall. Fireworks began before the ten p.m. announced start time, and were quite impressive! Only a few headed into the clouds, slightly lessening their brightness, but all in all it was a marvelous show, and we headed home grateful for the outing, and for forty-five years of friendship shared. Cropped from a landscape shot, but a decent example of how large is t...

Gigi Chicken, quite contemplative. May 2026; photo courtesy of my husband. I remember fifty years ago as the bicentennial approached; I was very excited to celebrate something so seemingly momentous! Bicentennial quarters were the rage, lol, as well as the sense of being aware of a part of history I would recall throughout my lifetime. Fifty years later, I'm not planning to celebrate America's independence day other than perhaps going to some local fireworks with my bestie, visiting for the weekend. More on my mind are things far less temporal, corporeal. The kinds of notions one ponders as age imparts. For certainly, I'm not ten years old any more, LOL. Clouds from May 2026. Yesterday my bestie noted that in where we live, amid nature and its marvelous spoils, a quiet life removed from even a medium town's bustle has altered my husband and me, to which I heartily agreed. This was spoken as we watched one of the three World Cup games, she LOVES football and tournaments....