Tag: writing

Humanity

okay okay

Lovelovemotherexpletive

here we are: the otherside.

I’ve completed the hardest of my projects for this week, and i’m basking. Just momentarily, but still. And, a birthday is completed, and I can’t tell you how glad I am. And the cactus in the houseplant section of my kitchen are blooming. and there is joy in mudville. and tomorrow I get to go feed the chickens again. and that is invigorating. so much so.

so, its not necessarily the otherside, but its well down the path towards it. I can see those greener pastures of january first, i can.

there will be bumps, this is guaranteed.

I’m a bump-ridden kind of girl. But also, I’m a bump rider. I throw my hands up when the car goes over the tracks and I love the thump of my base when I hit the speedbumps. SO.

I wrote this morning about what is in my fridge and how I’m sadly familiar with the liquifaction of zucchini. and thats a bump, but i’m waving my arm around like I just don’t care. Can you see me? More liquid magic for the compost heap, baby.

And, determination. So much determination that maybe next year, I’ll even plant zucchini, just to prove it to myself that there is a way, somehow, someway, to get my kids to eat it. There is. I will lazerpoint my steely eyes on those children and watch them with glee when it happens to them.

The zuke.

(whats funny is that most of my writing this morning had to do with myself being a ‘pantser’ style (by the seat of your pants) writer, a writer without a plan who gets an idea and just runs. This post is a perfect example of the problem with pantsing. No doubt you did not expect the first sentence to lead you through this journey. Neither did I. I’m just along for the ride, like you.)

And herein lies the problem with this every day thing… no, no, i’m not going to say it, or type it, or even think it anymore.

i’m just going on faith here that if you read it, you’ll find something in it that you like. go digging. find something.

maybe my kids won’t need me to play hide the zucchini.

and because I think that sentence is so funny and leads to so much joy and hysteria, i’m going to stop right there.

love you guys. dig for it.

-kate

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Humanity

Yesterday

Lovelovemotherexpletive

I spent most of the day at a soccer game in the most brilliantly beautiful warm fall day you could imagine. I mean, take the time to envision the greens against a blue sky, the shock of the sun against the reds, oranges, dark greens, yellows of the tree line.

The boys all in white, and red, running on the green.

Colorwise, I was blown into the stratosphere. Honestly.

And, it was an awesome game, fraught with peril and intrigue.

And, We Won. Which makes it all glimmer and sparkle like a damn tv commercial for main street, america. (think gilmore girls town center at christmas, babes)

Stars Hollow, I believe.

I may have watched too much of that show at one point. I left when Rory hit the skids and went for the rich guy. I hated that guy. Sigh.

Anyhow. My sister and her love were there, my mom and all my kids. My old father in law was hidden elsewhere but was there with his daughter. It was the most beautiful day.

Today we have a birthday party at a trampoline place that I am mildly dreading, and hosting. The noise of the place, the exhaustion of socializing when masked. If I sit down and read a book, with headphones on, do you think people will judge me?

My daughter will judge me.

Shitcakes.

Fuck. I need a cigarette. Do you think the trampoline park will mind if i smoke?

(i’m not going to smoke. its been over a month now. yeah baby.)

shitcakes.

I’m hoping to write more interesting things this coming week, now that I have some days empty, in a row, even. My projects are winding down and after Monday will be primarily finish work on both.

We will see.

So for today, just a tiny bit of whats going on here. today. yesterday.

you got me, i know.

-lovelove

Sigh. The photos can’t capture it. Shocking color yesterday. literally shocking the system.

Humanity

Crappy Work Ethic.

Lovelovemotherexpletive

I’m doing a terrible job of getting a writing project done. Evidence here, under your eyeballs. I’m writing here like a champ! Getting it done! But the job I get paid for? Sigh.

I ate two pieces of cake today though. And, I fed the chickens joyfully and I bought all the tchotchkes for the party give away bags. whatever demon mother first came up with the birthday family giving presents OUT at the party? Damn her to hell. Anyhow, kid wanted gum to be given out. so i have gum. Gum.

And I don’t even have anything exciting to write. I’m sort of blissing out on my kid’s birthday. I just adore her, and she’s nine. What a great age. I tell you, I’ve loved every single age, once toddlerdom ended. Every single one. For all three kids.

So, I’m blissed out, and having a hard time tying myself to the writing job. I had a call with a client and took on some other jobs, so I’m laughing at myself a bit, because I clearly think I’m going to meet my deadline and all will be well, even though said deadline is creeping up my ass as I type.

colorful language, yes. but really.

Almost forgot to post this today, because its almost dark and its three pm and i just want to snuggle and have my tea and live like I’m supposed to live, in swathes of flannel with cheeks pinked from being outside in bluster.

Boy, this is windy ramble. So says I. and so says todays weather. So we match. It is well with me.

I’m smiling contentedly at you whilst the time slips away.

A moment of well.

  • love love.
dirty dry pattern texture
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Humanity

Houseplants

Lovelovemotherexpletive

I wonder pretty often about this place I live in. How I can improve it, how I can honor it, imbue it with my spirit while I’m sharing space temporarily. . .

I’ve got a lot of houseplants, dude. Each time a mood strikes me, I find myself holding a potted plant. There is a lot of greenery here, almost all centered around the kitchen, so I can remember to water what needs watering. Out of sight out of mind is real with me.

So here we are. In the season of plastic on all the windows, the plants must be moved, the tables turned, the plants which have summer homes returned to the nook off the kitchen. Things get crowded. I forget who needs less light and who is downright scared of direct light.

Houseplants. Out of place, like an animal raised in captivity, not knowing its roots, not unhappy maybe, but definitely not in its natural environment.

Sometimes I feel like that. Like I belong somewhere else, a rebel in a commune, wearing a bra while everyone else bakes cookies naked. (i would never wear a bra if i didn’t have to, ever.)

Like I belong hanging from a tree in some rain forest, living happily on air.

Its not all the time, this feeling, but it creeps around often enough that I can give it a friendly squeeze.

Is this what will happen to me when the last of the kids is gone? Will I be wearing caftans and cooking curries and being Mrs. Roper?

(bonus points if you understand that reference.)

I’m curious about it, really, because of that creep familiarity. I love LOVE that I still am wondering what I will be when I grow up, at 47.

I wonder if I am the only one.

See you soon, wonderkinds. This was day 10.

Humanity

Grief

Lovelovemotherexpletive

I’ve mentioned before that I am swamped with melancholy in this month and next. The anniversary of my dad’s death and the necessity of sharing birthdays of children with my ex and all the tearing up of my insides at the still new change of holiday appearances, all that? Oh god, the feeling of loss is so damn pervasive, its the chill in my toes of winter. It swamps me, and I am still working on it, but am spending most of my time just looking forward to New Year’s Day, the day everything is finished and everything can begin.

When I say ‘most of my time’ that is mostly a lie. I’m busy, we’re all busy and I don’t necessarily have the time to focus on my inner workings all day. But, BUT, I am aware of a somewhat constant undercurrent of sadness.

So. When a friend told me about a writing group that focused on grief, it did not feel like a horrorshow. It felt like a possibility, a way to purge myself of this feeling, or at least to acknowledge it at a deeper level than just in type, here.

It was tough. I didn’t want to. and sometimes, knowing the depths of loss that people can be in, it can make my grieving of a father, and a man I thought I knew, or the girl i was when i believed in people, feel somehow less significant. When someone is in the rawness of it, and you see, remember and don’t feel it anymore? awe inspiring how human we all are. and how much a part of human life loss and grief are.

I spend a lot of time in shallow waters, and it is much safer there. but the truth isn’t there, and when i woke up this morning (daylight savings be damned) I felt relieved. Somehow the writing of it has released some of it for me today. I’ll take it, even if its temporary.

so thats where i’m at. day 8 of this month of constant writing. So far so good.

the work is ongoing.

-love love.

ball point pen on opened notebook
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