Day games on kinda rainy afternoons

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SO MUCH WATER! 18 April 2022

My husband was watching the SF Giants in a double-header against the NY Mets, but the sun popped out and instead he's pottering around the yard. Meanwhile I've been revising Part Two of my impending series, although I'm wondering if I should consolidate it into three books rather than four. And spinning in the washer is a recently located quilt from 2015, which I made right after my dad died. I called it the Dad-land Flag in part because I was groping around trying to find my footing. And because nothing else sounded good. One reason I'm considering a re-org of my series is that Book Three currently has no title. But I'm quite enjoying this story and if I did have suitable cover material, I'd be publishing Part One right now. Maybe it's good this series needs to simmer a bit, sort of how I've been hanging inside while the rain comes down in buckets.

The picture above is from yesterday when it POURED for around twenty minutes; water with no place to go formed puddles in the flowerbed yet unplanted, save last year's Sweet Williams to the left in the photo. Until the recent spate of rainy weather, I've been outdoors most afternoons, the sunshine far too pleasant to hunker in the house. And even though it's partly sunny now, the greenhouse floor is squishy, my plants happy in the window ledges, while I'm in the mood to write. Not a book mind you, although up until a few days ago I was the one pottering, having pulled out a manuscript from a couple of years back. I added two, maybe three chapters, then got serious with That Which Can Be Remembered (TWCBR). And now I'm on a roll; regardless if I have three or four parts, the pre-publishing edits are in full swing. It's a good feeling to be on this train that travels despite weather or quilt projects. But I am pondering a sewing notion (ha ha), however first I need to clear the quilt wall of something I started weeks ago, then conveniently forgot for another pretty which turned out to be the garden.

We moved house last summer and are still getting to grips with 1) No longer living in a big city 2) Cooler climes 3) Space to ramble 4) The time with which to ramble. Not to mention still getting settled in the place, but that unwinds at a pace separate from needing to get plants in the ground, quilts finished, books sorted. Previously books sorted was top of my list, followed by quilts finished. Needing to get plants in the ground wasn't on my rota until Covid hit, although my better half was always in the garden when time allowed. Now I'm a little obsessed with checking the progress of various tomato seedlings, are the zinnias ready, can I pot up the nasturtium yet? It's strange; books clamor for my attention albeit silently, quilts the same. Living things however limp if I don't water them, ahem. But with water crashing to the ground, my attentions can turn to less clingy pastimes. And this blog is one of them.

I can't say yet how often I'll post, kind of depends on the weather. And my novels, and if I finish the quilt on the wall and start another. Loads of pretties, which is a marvelous blessing, if not a wee bit distracting from one another. While I miss my kids and grandchildren, I'm finding myself here in Humboldt County in a manner most necessary; my parents have been dead for over four years, yet they live in my words, what I'm faffing with in the greenhouse, and the quilts I create. I just realized today that Yarzel Nasri, a key player in TWCBR, is clearly based upon my father. This has happened before, both the delayed acknowledgement and putting Dad in one of my books, yet I don't see it until a safe amount of time has passed. Dad's been gone for seven years, but he's never far away. Funny the manners in which we keep close those greatly missed.

My father would love where we live now; I'm sure he's smiling at all the tomato plants waiting for their place in the real sun, not merely a greenhouse windowsill. What he would have made of his fictional counterpart isn't for me to speculate, but I think he'd be pleased. This is a part of writing, and living, that isn't easy, but necessary. It's not merely closure, but incorporating loss into life, grief into gain. Tomatoes into the garden when the ground is warm enough, hoping the sun shines on the literal fruits of that labour to emerge. TWCBR is more than another series, now that I reach the end of this post. It's a method of letting go, making room for What Comes Next.

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