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Daily writing prompt
Do lazy days make you feel rested or unproductive?
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Used to be, when I was being lazy, I hovered between feeling guilty and feeling glorious.

After I retired, it took almost six months before I could sit back and feel at ease with those days when nothing much was ever done or accomplished under my watch. Shortly after I left work – for good, on March 15th, 2017 – All Hail, the Ides of March! – I started keeping a WIAT journal: What I Accomplished Today.

Some days, the only thing I write down is the word nothing while some days there are several entries. Over the years, I’m increasingly just fine with that though truth be told, those nada entries, are pretty rare.

It’s all good. I’m at peace.

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I am truly fearful. This country has turned into a dangerous, divisive, unstable republic. All thanks to one ‘man’ (hardly a role model for any young boy, or girl!) and the millions of misguided, hateful, misinformed voters who not just once, but twice, put this despicable, deceitful, self-serving moron into the office of the presidency.

And then there’s this….

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~ for Shelly & Diane

It’s that time of the month again.

Today, I’m meeting up with my fabulous poetry pals at our favorite gathering place, The Mercantile, just outside a bustling new agricommunity, in the rural wonderland of central Iowa, chowing down pita chips and their amazing dip – we can never decide between the garlic herb or the Merlot so now we just get one of each.

We’ll each savor a cool drink – I love their Honey Fire cinnamon whisky concoction – as we’re doted on by Robert and / or Rick (most agreeable young fellows!) inside a renovated country schoolhouse, with its charming brick walls and ceiling beams. Prairie grasses and field flowers sway in Iowa’s ubiquitous breezes, a pleasant view outside the tall north-facing windows, snug – just the three of us – in our preferred, cozy little corner, reading and sharing each other’s poetry.

It is a marvelous way to spend one’s afternoon.

I always, always eagerly look forward to spending this time with Shelly and Diane. I’m very grateful to have been invited to join this tiny but perfect little group. We discuss poetry, of course, and family and books, gardening and cooking, travel and film. And sometimes – sadly, often angrily – the dreadful, tumultuous state of our country. It’s best though, to not spoil the mood of our little get-together so once we’ve vented our frustrations with the current regime, we quietly and simply move on to other, more optimistic passions!

Our personalities, such a fine mesh. Our poetry styles, obviously unique and quite different from one another’s. Our accumulated life’s experiences, vast and varied.

For today’s Brew, I’ve prepared two poems birthed from the pages of my daily journal, each one written in the last few weeks. This morning, I tweaked them a bit – and then a bit more. Poems are, as you may know, never quite finished.

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Uber-fans, like me, of the 1979 classic All That Jazz will recognize those lyrics from a film that chronicles one man’s journey toward his demise. The movie is chockful of spectacular performances and never fails to fill my eyes with tears.

Yesterday, less than a month after my own mother passed away, I attended the funeral of a beloved uncle. Sitting there, during what seemed an interminable though well-intended sermon, it occurred to me that I’ve reached that stage in life where one by one, my elders and eventually my familial peers will eventually meet the same fate. As will I…

There will be more funerals, the gaps between each one and the next more slender; they will not occur as infrequently as they did even ten years ago. My mother’s remaining six sisters’ and their spouses’ bodies are in decline, some more evident than others. My husband’s family, even larger, tells the same story.

We will be attired in black, yet again, many times in the coming days, weeks, months and years. None of us know the when only that the if will never fit inside the equation. Never has.

Angelique, the Angel of Death, who troubles and endears Joe Gideon in the film, is beautiful and charismatic. Joe both adores and fears her. Not yet, he tells her at one point, and she demurs, backs away, allows him to live a bit longer.

May we all live – well and truly! – just a bit longer though one day, this same inevitability will arrive for each of us.

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The holiday hoopla is over and done. All fine and well and good. It’s a New Year. We’re moving on. Already, resolutions made and broken. Such is life.

And now, the COLD spell begins. I saw a headline in my Google feed this morning containing those dreaded, winter-month words, polar vortex. Yikes! I remember well, those frigid days and weeks, from just a few years back.

Ah, well. Bring it on, I say. We’re Iowans, Midwesterners. We can handle a few frozen temperatures. We’ve got Netflix and Hulu and Apple + TV. There are LOADS of books on our shelves and downloaded to our Kindles (and we know where to get more). There’s the Internet! Streaming! Painting tutorials: watercolors, Bob Ross, acrylics! We’ve got quilting, reorganizing, Sudoku, baking bread, crock-pot lasagna. Take-out, for crying out loud.

Knife sharpening!

The miraculous wonders of YouTube….

Yeah, we’ll manage alright. That doesn’t mean we have to like it.

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I want to apologize to those of you whose blogs I follow – and also thank everyone who continues to visit and support A Sawyer’s Daughter. The last couple of months have been pretty busy and the rest of October promises to continue in like fashion.

One of my morning rituals is scrolling through my Reader and catching up with what others have posted and offering my comments and Likes. I’ve been pretty lax in doing that of late and hope to resume my contributions as a member in good standing in The Land of Blog after we make it through the rest of the month!

We’ve been absorbed in all things ‘boat’ this summer and early fall. Husband just finished winterizing our new toy and we’ll be hauling it to the storage shed later today until warmer days return next spring and we can once again take to the water!

I’m hunkered down this weekend and will be likewise so throughout the first of the week preparing and distributing ‘poetry packets’ for next Saturday’s Iowa Poetry Association’s Fall Workshop. For the past three years, I’ve served as the Spring / Fall Workshop Coordinator and while I’ve enjoyed the experience, I’d like to step down now – yes, now after I’ve finally gotten everything all figured out and have my methods and processes down to a (somewhat) well-oiled machine! I’ve decided it’s time and I look forward to just being a participant instead, going forward.

Most pressing right now, however, is that both my husband and I are also dealing with the health concerns of our parents. Bill’s dad has back surgery on the 21st and he will be staying with them, out of town, for at least a week. In the meantime, my mother was just diagnosed with Stage 2 breast cancer and it looks like her doctors are moving quickly in response. She has a troublesome heart so that will play into any available treatment options which they will discuss with her next Thursday.

October is my favorite month of the year but with all that’s been happening, I’m not able to fully enjoy and appreciate it as I’d like. But — the weather has been absolutely glorious this year and for that I am so grateful!

Take care, friends, and I hope to reconnect with you all after the fun and spirit of Halloween gives way to the thankfulness of gobble-gobble in November and the wintry joys of the holiday season throughout December — and beyond!

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So, yeah. I want to write.

So, WRITE, already. The thing is, I don’t know what to write about. Does anyone, really? I’ve been told I have ‘some kind of imagination’, or words to that effect, based on some of my quirkier poems. But I haven’t written for quite a while, at least not consistently, which could well be part of the problem.

I think, sometimes, I do have it in me to tell one helluva tale. I just need to sit myself down, focus and start writing. And then, just keep at it.

Who (or what) shall I write about? Who are my characters? What is their history, their back story? What do they want? What dilemma(s) are they facing?

In what genre do I want to frame my story? Let’s consider a few options.

There’s drama, maybe something based on my own life, a memoir of sorts. A mystery, maybe? I’d love to pull off a good thriller. Something quirky really appeals to me. A classy horror story would be pretty awesome. Fantasy, perhaps? Science fiction — doubtful but I won’t rule it out. Speculative also interests me though I don’t know that I’m crystal clear just what that would entail.

Two categories that don’t really trip my trigger are comedy and romance. Shrug. Who knows? Maybe I would really excel in writing humorous stories or the so-called ‘bodice rippers’. There’s also the chick lit genre but then again, not at all the type of books I myself enjoy reading.

I’ve identified some areas of interest as well as some that I’d rather avoid.

But, how to actually BEGIN? That’s what has me stumped.

Do I just START somewhere, anywhere, even if all I have is a vague idea? Here’s the biggie: Do I need to KNOW where the story will go, where and how it will end up before I write a single word of it? Maybe I should take a writing class, try to find someone to guide me, to point me in the right direction? I think that’s what I’m trying to accomplish with this blog post, come to think of it. Anyone, anyone?

I believe I have it in me to DO the thing; I just don’t know HOW. I enjoy reading the books I’ve accumulated over the years ABOUT writing. Loads of good information but am I simply postponing the work of it, the actual DOING of this thing called writing in favor of just thinking about it, of just talking about it? Maybe I’m lazy or just procrastinating? I’ve started several pieces but then get caught up in the am-I-doing-this-correctly merry-go-round and I set them aside, never (or rarely) to return.

Or do I simply not (yet) have a story in me to write?

So many questions but I’d like to believe that by articulating these concerns, I’m taking those proverbial baby steps. Maybe I’m already pointed in the right direction?

Can anyone help me? Or is this something I just have to figure out by myself? Inquiring minds want to know…

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Resembling a laser-focused aircraft marshal on a busy tarmac, I know my ears will be protected by the sound.  The nail gun is heavy in my hands, and it certainly takes both of them to hold firm as I tentatively climb the ladder.  We’re putting up storage shelves in the southeast corner of the basement, a long-awaited first step in finally, finally providing some semblance of order to the disorganized mess in the foundational underpinning of our home that’s been neglected for far too long.

To be sure, husband is doing most of the work—measuring room dimensions, researching materials and tools, installing outlets, running wires, picking through the meager selection of straight-as-an-arrow two by fours in the racks at Menards, loading (and unloading) the lumber and shelving, all those weighty pieces of bracketing—indeed, all of the heavy lifting.  My home-enhancing contributions tend toward providing assistance whenever Bill needs a second pair of hands but mostly, I’m our home’s interior designer.  Bill does the grunt work.  I just make it all look pretty.  Or presentable, at least.  Homey and cozy and welcoming, that’s always what I’m aiming for.

But today, I’ll make my own mark—literally.  My five-foot-one frame will absorb the kickback.  Warily, I’ll stand within inches of that impossible-to-anticipate deafening crack, the pum of compressed-air as the nail explodes from the chamber and embeds itself into the stud.  Once the deed is done, when my body is no longer reverberating from the impact, I’ll circle the nail head with a red Sharpie marker, date and initial it.  A talisman for future home dwellers, proof of my physical contribution to the accoutrements of our new and improved storage space.

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We purchased our house, a three-bedroom ranch, in 2005.  It was—and remains—our dream house.  Situated along the fourth fairway of The Legacy golf course, it has a spectacular view of the second hole and adjacent pond, nice woodwork throughout, a modern kitchen and is nicely landscaped.  The basement, however, was unfinished.  Oh, but did we have plans for rectifying that situation!  Enthusiastic brain dumps on how we might best use the space and a multitude of ideas for floor plans morphed into one configuration after another time and again over the first several years.

Other pursuits, however, soon consumed our time, our energies and our resources until now, nearly fifteen years since I drove a nail into that two by four.  My husband and I are both retired and, like many Americans, covid quickly and thoroughly put the kibosh on any immediate plans to travel overseas or even throughout the United States.  We still talk about ‘maybe someday’ but I think we both know the deeper truth.  We don’t have any compelling need or desire to finish off the basement.  Currently, it serves to provide a number of satisfactory purposes. 

The exercise space houses an elliptical and my husband’s old Nordic Track, both strategically placed in view of a big screen TV.  Bill has a work space for his computer, with two large monitors.  There are several book cases and a place for him to play his guitars.  There’s the aforementioned storage room, with shelving running floor to ceiling that spans the length of the room.  A section of the basement is my sewing room.  I have a large daylight window overlooking my work space and shelving for all the fabric I’ve accumulated in the three short years since I began quilting.   

We have what we need and then some.  It works for us and no regrets.  Entertaining has never been high on our priority list and besides, how many times would we really make use of a pool table or the shuffleboard table we thought we’d love to have?  No.  A finished basement just isn’t something we spend much time thinking about anymore.  We, however, made an alternate decision and started to look outside ourselves.  I mean, really outside….

Instead of finishing the basement—fireplace, wet bar, billiards table, huge screen TV, exercise room—all those amazing features we once drooled over—we’ve directed our salivary glands to contemplate the new boat we’re getting this spring.  Certainly, fresh air and sunshine have to be healthier for the body—and the soul—than the dim confines of a basement, no matter how lavishly appointed!

More importantly, we’ve come to realize we enjoy our own company and what better way than out on the water, just my husband, our puppy and me.

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We woke up to a brisk sixty-five degrees this morning. That was the temperature inside the house. Outside: a mere twenty-nine…

Apparently, our furnace has expired, or very nearly so. We’ll find out for sure this afternoon after the heating technician looks it over and, hopefully, is able to repair it. ”Nothing major. You’re good to go!”

More likely, however, he’ll tell us we need to replace the thing. Most of the houses in our neighborhood were built roughly at the same time, the early 2000’s and we’ve noticed a surge of HVAC repair trucks in driveways up and down the street in the past year or so. Talk about your planned obsolescence!

Anyway, while it’s pretty chill in here – at 10:17 AM – it could have been colder yet. Just a few weeks ago, we were in the throes of minus degree temps. Per my journal, one day we hit a ‘high’ of eight below! So, a little perspective is in order. 

In the meantime, a cup of hot tea is just the ticket!