Buying Dirt

Pink 

on 

One

Side

Green 

on

the

Other

Dear folks,

 I got into trouble last night.

It was with my blog carrier for “sensitive material.” 

 Hey, I’m a good Jo, and I still believe in free speech, but I overstepped their specifications, and they placed a warning on my blog.

I wasn’t sure which statement set off their bot.  I repeated information that wasn’t true, but I specified that it wasn’t, and it had tickled me before it went away. 

It wasn't the carrier who took it offline. It was me.

For those who read yesterday's post, April 29, I would appreciate any comments. Were you shocked, offended, disagreed, or agreed?

I know readers are reticent to comment on this blog; either it’s hard to do, or they are afraid I will snatch their email. I don’t know, I am just happy all you guys show up💖💗 and whether people put in likes or not doesn’t matter as long as they read my material. I appreciate your time in reading this.💗 I know you have many choices, so that you choose to look at these words warms my cockles. Thank you.💗💗💗💗💗

I am sure the powers that be didn’t object when I got off topic at the end of my post and talked about buying topsoil for the area in our backyard where the grass isn’t growing.

It struck me as my daughter was throwing the bags of dirt over the temporary fence I bought to keep the dogs off my intended new lawn, that our great-grandparents would exclaim, “Buying dirt in bags?! What in the world is the world coming to?”

What if they heard that in the 2000s, we would be buying water, and what about $5.00 cups of coffee?

See how we ease into such things, and soon they become commonplace? We adjust.

The area I am talking about is under the Maple tree where the roots are growing up through the ground. After the leaves covered the ground last fall, the rains came and added to the the lawn's demise.

Now we have a large patch of bare ground.  

I love that Maple tree. It is beautiful in the summer and provides delightfully calming shade—do you bask in shade? (When it is hot enough, we do.)

But can I convince the birds to leave some seeds to germinate, the seeds to sprout, and grass to grow where we once had a lawn?

We’ll see.

This is our life, folks: conditions change, we have at-home challenges, we have world challenges, and here we are trying to find joy in a chaotic world.

It’s probably not all that much different from earlier times.

At least we have indoor plumbing.

 

 

Wednesday, Painting my Life

 

Below are the first few paragraphs of a new project I began on May 1, 2023. I began it by typing as I looked out the window at the pink dogwood blossoms on an old tree. 

Today I reached my goal of 50,000 words.

 

 

A Corner of My Mind

from a Badass in training

 

Do you remember this movie technique? Disney used it, and others too—a paintbrush would swipe across the screen, and its wake, birds, scenes of villages and farmlands, animals, and people would magically appear? Maybe even a dog would run off the page.

 

I am attempting to swipe the blank paper, although I have outlines, pen, and ink drawings that my brush will fill with living colors.

 

"Pay attention," wrote Julie Cameron—" of life and what you see there." What I see out my window is a pink dogwood tree in full flower. When we moved here, it was an old tree cut down to its bare bones, a trunk, and five branches. I had no inkling what sort of tree it was, but for the last couple of years, it has branched, leafed, and revealed itself to be a pink dogwood, one of my favorite trees. 

 

This is May 1, 2023. A time of revival, and we've endured a lingering sadness over the past few years, wondering about our lives, health, and world conditions, but I'm not going there. This is a time to thrive and to live abundantly. We are the carriers of a new time. So, let's get cracking. 

 

I have heard people talk about "Building memories," and I wondered, are my memories for me only? Could they be attractive to others? Perhaps in writing my memories, I could motivate others to join me. I was inspired by another writer, Natalie Goldberg, who said many years ago in Writing Down the Bones, "Writing will take you where you want to go."

 

Natalie was the first writing teacher to say writing is a therapeutic experience.

 

So, this is a memoir—or whatever it turns out to be.

 

A memoir needn't be an old person's story as we sometimes think; I was born in so, went to school at so in so High, and married my high school sweetheart. Boring. In Goldberg's book Old Friend from Far Away, she explains that memoir is for the moments that take our breath away. Like the hot day, you stopped the car by a creek, stripped off your pantyhose, waded into the stream fresh off an ice flow, and felt alive.

 

I wanted to know if I could complete 50,000 words before the blossoms fell in pink snow to the ground. No, the flowers fell from the tree in May 21,  but wait, I have a small tree in the front yard that I planted a few years ago; it is called "Mom's Tree," and it is also a Pink Dogwood. I decided I got an extension on this writing and began using those blossoms as my timer. They look scroungy and bleached-out white, but still they hold on.

 

Maybe Mother is holding them. Tomorrow she can release her grip.

 

For today I hit 50,000 words.

 

That count will go up or down as I go back over the pages, but I hit the target. 

 

When I heard of the technique called, NaNoWriMo, I thought it was absurd. Yeah, you can write a novel in a month, but then it will take two years to edit it. It was insulting to those who have spent years writing a novel. But this isn't a novel, and I know about keeping one's hand moving. And I lived the story; so I don't have to make it up. 

 

Boo Walker wrote in his newsletter that he was celebrating the completion of his a novel’s first draft, but, he said it stank. However, he had words to edit, and he knew he could fill in the descriptions, dialogue, and such later on. His wife said his wardrobe was as bad as his first draft and was taking him shopping. "Nooooo!"

 

I am going outside in a little while to let the sun heal me. Whoops, no sun. I’m going to the grocery store, But first, carry on and do good work

 

Adios,

Jo