The Uninvited Guest

I am about to say something I have never said before. It’s really not like me, here goes: I miss June! I typically spend every summer just waiting and waiting for the fall season to return. I like fall. That time of year is nice. It means that eventually cooler weather will return. Lots of stores sell Halloween decorations (Oh, by the way there is a rumor on Facebook that Joann’s has started putting out some already! )

Last month, for the entire month of June, I was involved in a writing intensive. I met daily with writers from all across the country. Max Regan led the month-long event. I wrote two short stories and started reviewing many of my past tales. I may try to put together a collection of stories. When I started collecting them, I had many more than I thought. I now have a notebook full of ghost stories, grim reapers, essays and many haunted holiday tales.

There is something so inspirational about meeting with other writers around the country. Even though we all write in different genres and styles, it is still such a rich experience. It’s always helpful to know that someone else knows what it’s like to get lost in an idea and sit at a computer or with a notebook for hours getting everything down. And of course, these friends can also relate to the empty feeling of looking at either a piece of paper or a blank computer screen with nothing going through my head. Hot weather did not bother me, because I did not go outside that much. That’s pretty much the way I handle summers these days. I entertain myself indoors and try not to go outside until September or October.

As soon as the calendar flips to July, there is another “friend” to worry about. Hurricane Beryl. This is a big storm that does not appear to play well with others. He also does not stick with his own rules. He all but promised that he would not enter Texas. Now, hurricane warnings are popping up all along the Gulf Coast. I suppose Beryl is proud of himself, because he is breaking all kinds of records like earliest major storm in the Gulf, the biggest storm ever (or so it seems, Category 5 is big). This morning I learned that it is now headed for South Texas and Houston is included in the cone of uncertainty. Egad!

Did I mention that this is projected to be a busy hurricane season? I think I will crawl back into my study with my books, notebooks and laptop. Ghosts and scary monsters will fill my thoughts to keep me distracted from the weather. I won’t talk to anyone but other writers or those few who understand what writers are like. Yes, that is something akin to an ostrich sticking it’s head in the ground, but it sounds like a logical plan to me for the rest of this summer. That is, until the hurricanes show up at my door.

Until next time.……

To See or Not to See

It only took 34 years. To need a new front windshield for my car.

Blame four rocks smashing into my windshield. A trio in the past month alone. Could that be a record in America’s fourth largest city?

Years? Rocks? Days? All smacking into a single pane of auto glass?

It’s repaired now but I wonder how long this perfection will last. I considered not replacing the windshield at all. With my recent track record, was it worth it?

Consider another factor.

It’s been a spring, summer, and fall for endless car repairs. New tires. New brakes. New shocks. New struts. Restored air conditioning.

Traveling nearly three thousand miles across three states, plus mountain driving in summer heat, would impact anything and anyone. Add to that 60K miles acquired across seven years in Houston’s humidity atop her pothole-laced freeways.

Besides, every car needs routine maintenance. Even more results from the adventures of a committed RoadBroad who must venture out weekly to gather her blog posts.

But this kind of cash makes for a hard swallow. These repairs exceed 16 months of car payments. What I completed four years ago.

I wanted to leave the windshield as it was. Ugly, yes. But it’s only glass. Ugly, ugly glass.

Look for yourself.

See the jagged crack on the lower left? Swing your eyes to the far right. Spy the dot of pebbled glass? That’s the Hillcroft rock.

Out of range are the remaining pair of cracks. The worst split the windshield’s top quadrant like a boxer’s uppercut.

I felt confident of my do-nothing approach. Then the heavy rains came.

Caught in a blinding downpour, the freeway’s dotted lines vanished before my eyes. I white-knuckled the steering wheel and glued my eyes to the roadway, bird-dogging for other blinded drivers. The windshield began to mock me. Its four cracks widened, expanding, before my terrified eyes.

It’s expensive to be a RoadBroad, I decided. New windshield got fitted two days later.

Meaning-Me decided to reframe the issue.

Maybe now you’re free. To see clear and clean the road that lies before you. 

Then my eyes whispered, reminding me of July’s summer laser surgery. A sudden onslaught racked them, too. It was a bout with spider vision, aka PVD. That’s short for Posterior Vitreous Detachment, a common, surprise malady afflicting the post-60 crowd. A second whisper chimed.

New glass. New eyes. New view.

When I hear my inner voice(s) whisper like this, I listen. Even if it’s woo-woo. Or simply mental. Who cares?

Now I can see.

I’m ready for the road.

Why I Walk

Observation.

The word beckons, two months — nearly to the day — after a life-changing encounter with Sherlock Holmes.

This time, nature delivers on my daily morning walk.

Whoa! How did this happen? 

No storms last night. 

Not even a teeny gust of wind.

Curiousity moved me forward. 

Inspection reveals this tree half-died across a lengthy period of time. It consumed itself from the inside out, internal erosion concealed beneath solid exteriors.

Disease consumes perfection, beginning its continuing work on lower limbs.

Yet in this ultra close-up, Life returns.

A ring of healthy bark embraces a circle of green. Star of hope amid a rotting halo. It’s a wink to onlookers who search for meaning in the world surrounding.

Truth hides what the outside never sees. Does that make a lie?

Parallels to the writing world—stories, projects, relationships, life itself—scream back at me. I smile.

Ah, today will be good.

When nature speaks, she roars.

What happens when we see, then listen.

Ellen offered a single word to these pictures: wabi-sabi. It was a classic “aha!” moment. Wabi-sabi centers on (quoting Wikipedia here) the Japanese aesthetic that art marries “asymmetry… austerity…and appreciation of …natural objects and processes.”

At her mention, I remember “duende.” It’s a Spanish term for a passionate experience relating to an experience of art or life.

I proclaim Tener Duende for wabi-sabi! That’s my Tex-Mex version of ‘to have duende’ for this entire discovery of one vital broken-yet-living tree.

Now I know why I walk. To see what to write.

It begins with Observation. Yes, with a capital “O.”

I end on this offering. Dear Deer marked my final photo from the day I observed the living/dying tree.

Can you spot the tribal trifecta?

Papa stands at first base with Mama guarding on second. Baby, new to the fam and our neighborhood since last winter, remains puzzled at third.

I stand at home plate, awed to silence.