A Reprise

I am so impatient to get to the shelter but I know I need to wait till after work to have some more time with the animals. I have no idea how a dog will fit into my life but somehow it seems he will be a dignified little man and should share Christmas with us. I scarcely slept last night. Everything sort of seems like a nightmare, yesterday, everything. I am so tired. I am trying to read Color Me Beautiful and be happily independent but I couldn't care less. Be brave. These days always end. They have never failed to once.

Today above all others I feel those two natures warring within me. I never know if listening to Emilie Autumn gives me multiple personalities, or if I listen to Emilie when I have them. But today, Hildegarde and Oriente. The dominant and the submissive. I am fighting Hildegarde to give Oriente a chance, and this fight puts me in a constant concentration. How can I explain? When I am acting out of ego, out of need, I feel that surge of her dominance, but with head bowed, voice silent, I struggle to maintain Oriente's perfect nature of noninterfering.

There are ashes in a jar They are not ashes but my days My hours and minutes My thoughts bitten off My self deferred They are not ashes but my moments and my years Blow gently Gently, gently like a bubble Sink quietly and unremarkably into the deep Earth, air, fire and water together combine This is a destruction of a destruction These are clouds in the sky Blowing softly over the God's expanse They are not clouds, but they are my dreams My wishes and desires My hope floating softly A veil across the dark These are not clouds but my vision and my self Float gently Gently, gently like a petal Swathe me with your unbreakable silken strands Earth, air, fire and water together combine This is a replacement of a replacement

Okay, I don't hate all Christmas music, because David Bowie's little drummer boy song with the other man is the bomb. But that is the only one.

"She met some women... and the manners of those who attacked the sailors, made her shrink into herself, and exclaim, are these my fellow creatures!" I know that's real. That will have to be my new battle affirmation when I see things that give me a struggle. Are these my fellow creatures.

I'm sharing a cup of tea with my hen who disappeared yesterday when I found some dogs on our property. I have been grieving her all day, as Snow White has been missing for nearly two weeks now. When Nathan gets home Beauty will go in the shed with the other chickens, and they will never be outside unprotected again. It may be wrong, but I completely hate dogs now.

Oh my goodness so I am trying to write on my poor computer, whose backspace and P ... pretty much don't work at all anymore. So I have been spending my breaks downloading beautiful fashion mooks um semi-legally which would run me $20-$40 otherwise ... and when I get a computer virus from it ... well, it won't matter much. And this little POS. Oh my goodness. iWhatever was not made for serious writers apparently. Most people won't complain when their WTFBBQ texts are crashed out, but when I am writing a chapter and ... ? Oh my goodness. I miss my Treo. I know it's wrong but I do. I also miss my computer working. Let's see. Well my work life is so different now that I almost feel kind of sick from the reeling changes. You know I want to change my career. You know I do. But I am still here, and I have a completely different supervisor, and things have changed enough I would say it is like I have had a 50% job change. My work day is very different now. It's really t

My favorites: sweet potato gnocci spumoni

I do believe that one can always control the volume and pitch of one's sneeze to a certain degree. I've never heard anyone else say it, but I do think so. Last night I cleaned out my sewing room, which is likely the most disturbingly disorganized mess I've made, and I found my blue journal. I was so excited. My last entry was 10/12. I believe I lost it for that long. The fact is I remember several weeks ago when I was rummaging for some craft supplies I had stacked a great deal of mess on my desk. It all collapsed to the side, taking my journal along. I never cleaned up the mess - I have no good explanation, but I remember feeling discouraged when it happened. I have felt very overwhelmed about that room, and last night I finally found the energy to give it a try. I also discovered a host of insect shells and webs beneath my desk. It would seem someone has been very busy in my absence. I will admit I often see spiders in my sewing room - and I ignore them. If no one told

I am remembering the joy I felt one occasion this week as I drove to my lunch break. I am always so excited and happy when it is time for my break. One hour for myself, sweet moments to spend my best waking hours doing something worthy or fun. I thought of how my daily joys are real, how I live and breathe in these moments of feeling so grateful to be alive, and able to do the things I dream of doing, of sewing, creating or writing stories, telling stories to the world. When I was a child I never dreamed of such a thing as the Internet. I cannot believe I live in a time where it is possible for me to do the things I do. It is a strange time, now. A squirrel just scurried across the porch to press his small hands against the window and stare in at me. I still believe, as I did and as many children do, that he was trying to tell me something or otherwise guide me. I believe that animals are sensitive and intelligent in ways humans can never dream of being. Our sense of superiority to o

I decided to renew my efforts to shop for pants at the mall. It has been at least a year and a half, possibly two years, since I have been to one, so it was a little of a culture shock, as has been in the past. My first destination, Express, seemed to have joined the trend of assigning female names to different "fits" thereby eliminating the need to use the word "slim" or imply its opposite. In addition they have increased their sizing such that I am now a size 0, rather than a 4. I have for years mail-ordered my pants from Victoria's Secret. I am "Kate." The ever-common Christie fit has a bit more "room" as the name suggests the thirty or forty something. What a sad day it will be when I find the "Amanda" fit with a bit more room and know that my day is done. I wanted to buy some jeans from Abercrombie but could not because I was too deeply embarrassed by the greeting wall mural. I actually flushed with embarrassment and teared a l

"A woman is essentially a being of retirement and seclusion, and her nature becomes deteriorated by any employment which brings her before the public." This is all so fascinating. It seems like everything I hear and see everyone do is connected to the forgotten past by invisible threads. I won't be able to stop thinking about it now. Location: 19c quote

"The sturdy helpmate could fight Indians, kill the bear in the barn, make two pots of lye soap, and do a week's wash before dinnertime and still have the cabin neat, the children clean, and a good meal on the table when her husband came in from the fields... She was the Madonna of the Prairies..." Oh, yeah. Can it be that I am the Madonna of the Laboratory? Lol.

It sat in the truck overnight.

But she had still not yet seen the wolves. She was only too grateful to find the little coffee shop where she had had her interview with Dr. Thorn-and it was almost surprising to encounter people that smiled in return at her, or took any notice of her. "The world of humans," she said to herself, "is a strange and varied one. It must be the myriad of professions and experiences that makes them so different from each other." She took a slow, lasting breath as her eyes combed the cafe menu, written in pastel-colored chalk. "I am not doing this for fun. I have to remember that. When I see the wolves it will be different." The coffee shop was bustling with life at noon. Wonderful aromas lifted from the coffee roaster, while the oven was redolent with smells of rising dough and sugar. She took a seat by the window and watched two young women around her age having a chat and sharing a plate of pastries. She felt an unfamiliar pang as she remembered the specia

... makes me feel like a teenager again ... ! I listened to Emilie Autumn on the way home, and it made me feel so brave.

"Dr. Thorn," Cassandra uttered, at a loss. "It is good to see you again." Dr. Thorn lifted a brow and returned to her paperwork. "It is good you have come. We are terribly understaffed at the moment. Are you willing to work overtime?" "Of course," Cassandra said quickly. She had been hoping to have some evenings in the laboratory when no one else was there, to communicate with the captive wolves and reveal her identity to them. As it was, the wolves were in constant danger of revealing their true nature to the scientists that studied them. If their great intelligence was discovered, the ambitions of the institute could change-instead of seeking to eradicate the species, the scientists might instead wish to exploit them for human gain. Dr. Thorn's cell phone vibrated on the desk between them, and she lifted it to one pallid cheekbone. "Scarlet-" the tinny voice reached Cassandra's ears. "Have you drunk-" "I'

I love the clarity of prose, and the quick pacing, though I find I have to go back sometimes because I skipped a word or two and literally have no idea what is going on. It is so interesting to learn past modes of religion. As ages have passed, our views of religion have changed so much. I cannot really consider the present mood of it here without shuddering. At least in past ages it mingled with scenes of nature and attitudes of passion. Now it seems we linger between the dregs of the Second Great Awakening and wishy washy agnostics. We are afraid to believe in something, really involve ourselves. I keep downloading the books she references. I don't know where I will find time for all of this. I realize with each preface I skim how lacking is my history education. I find I still have a great desire for the eighteenth century.

I did not mean to do this . but I couldn't sleep last night. I found myself at 2 a.m. downstairs in front of my computer,  beginning Green Summer . So here it goes. Thus far, word 980.

Legend is ... my favorite movie right now. I never liked it so much as I liked it now. It has come of age for me. I am inspired, in every way. The way that it metaphorically depicts loss of innocence and maturity reaches my deepest heart.

Cassandra's heart turned over with excitement as she stepped from the bus onto the smooth paved streets. Drommende was a wilderness, but Cristalle was a metropolis. On this typical Monday morning, people dressed in business attire walked the streets, stopped at coffee vendors to order lattes and breakfast pastries. Cassandra remembered the coffee shop where she had had her interview with Dr. Thorn and wondered if it would be close to her laboratory. She would like to be able to go there frequently. With written instructions curled tightly in her hand, she entered the high-rise building before her. The lower rooms were walled with floor to ceiling windows, and morning light filled them with overwhelming brightness. Solar panels lined the walls to power computers and other equipment. "May I help you, miss?" A guard standing in the hall smiled at her in a friendly way. "I'm looking for the elevator." He gestured with a quick movement down the hallway. &qu

As she lifted the scissors to cut, a larger hand wrapped around hers. Cassandra withdrew with a cry. "Kell! I didn't see you come in." He took the scissors away. "I take it you got the job." "I did," she said crisply. "Return my scissors to me." "Not if you intend to cut off your hair. What do you mean by this nonsense?" "I can't have long hair in the laboratory. It might catch fire or something." "Look there." He guided her to the window. Below them lay the scattered remains of a centuries-old city park. The benches were near invisible due to growth, while the pond had extended far beyond its original boundaries. Ducks floated serenely on its surface. "We played as children. Do you remember how you prized your hair?" Cassandra laughed a little drily. "Of course. I insisted all my powers as princess lay in my hair. I was haughty. unworthy of the friendship of you and your sister."

He wore a waistcoat of dulled black satin and a crushed red velvet vest. His top hat was adorned with a collection of tattered silk roses such as might have been found at someone's grave. Over his shoulder was a sack not half full of his burden, and not very heavy. He whistled and nodded to passersby who were too far in proximity to notice the speculation in his wine-colored eyes. He availed himself of the secret entrance to the underground establishment of his pack, and slung the sack the ground in the entry way. "What news, Lady Cassandra," he called in the practiced tone of a ring leader. "Come and get the post." Cassandra hurried at the sound of his call, rushed to his side before Kell or any other could interfere with the post. "Is there a letter for me?" "There is," he drawled. Cassandra slit the envelope with her fingernail and quickly withdrew the contents. She remained silent as she slowly moved to the window, growing more stil

Another day of rain... My garden will love this. We bought a couch and love seat today... drove it home in the rain. Now I have to get some reviews done, with black tea and coconut M&M's. Keeping the dream alive, bidding on a 1935 cross stitch pattern and myriad dress patterns. I realized today that I am not comfortable with excessive ruffles And bows. It was a groundbreaking realization as far as my dressmaking. I hope the chickens are okay... I see no sign of them.

so hard and delicious and wonderfully. It does not rain much here so it is always a shock when I hear it on the roof. I ate so much at the pot luck. It was so much fun... I cleaned out the hen house when I got home, and I really wanted to plant my bulbs but I could see it was going to rain. I ate a little of everything, but it turned out to be a whole lot. And I laughed until I cried. I never laugh at work, and I was very conscious of this and tried to shut it up but I couldn't stop. Yesterday we walked around town, and I must say Arlington does not have a lot in the way of historical buildings. The Berachah Home for Erring Girls made me think of Emilie Autumn... On one plaque there was a photo of Victorian women in some society. They all had dark hair and were dressed in white. The women wore long white gowns, all wonderfully differentiated in what I could tell was exquisite lace or little boots, with their hair so dark in a loose bouffant, and it was all exquisite.

that I will have from my favorite coffee house (in this region). Because they are closing tomorrow. I can't believe it. Farewell Coffee Haus. . http://www.downtownroasters.blogspot.com/

I can scarcely believe my ears-great song.

Love to my precious animals.

She had taken the window seat overlooking the deserted city of Drommende. Her black skirt suit was exchanged for a long velvet gown of burnished gold, stained and creased from the ravages of time. She had received it as a gift from her father fifty years ago, when their clan had been prosperous enough to procure fine clothing. Around her neck she wore long chains of amethysts which glimmered in the late afternoon light. "I have always wanted to work in a laboratory, father. I have always wanted to do good for our people." His earlier storm and stress had dissipated, and he merely sighed. "A member of the royal family has never worked." Cassandra glanced at him. "This is no ordinary laboratory, father. The scientists in Cristalle are capturing the wolves-our people-and putting them through a battery of tests, often killing and dissecting the animals, to understand how to defeat our race." She met his shocked gaze. "Then if they learn who-or what-y

Alarmed, she halted her progress in the corridor and paused, rushing toward the door at the familiar sound of her father's voice. As she caught the drift of words through the door, she paused, her hand on the door knob, and stared at the great wooden impasse as she concentrated. "For your services you have commanded a high price. But the reward is yours. In a year, you may have Cassandra as your wife." Cassandra strained to hear Kell's low reply. Her heart beat rapidly in panic. She couldn't believe her ears. "She wants to work in a laboratory? How absurd. She will have to pretend to be a human every day. And what does she know of this work?" "As she did when she was in school, my lord. And her degree was in animal studies. Even then she was seeking knowledge to help our people." "You have allowed these fantasies? I must see her immediately." As Cassandra recoiled the door was wrenched open, and Cassandra fell forward. "I heard y

The werewolves lived mainly underground for privacy and protection, while their leaders kept the lower floors of the high rise for themselves. The upper floors were desolate, wind wistfully tousling the white canvases covering windows and furnishings. Long ago this room had been an office. A computer lay partially dismantled across a desk, several of its keys littering the floor below. Leather-upholstered chairs were torn and askew. A coffee mug still lay on the desk near the broken computer, a darkened ring inside telling the story of years of use before its abandonment. In the corners, where paper and litter rustled, Cassandra knew large rats lived, and she did not venture further into the rooms, but continued on the staircase. "Grainne," she whispered mournfully, tears in her voice, "what happened to you? You were the only hope of our people. For a while we have been able to live almost as humans lived." Grainne had left no sign, no trace of the concoctions

One more try for Twitter

"What, then?" Cassandra asked. "None other live in Drommende." "There have been rumors of angels in Drommende," Kell said. "Avenging angels." Cassandra lifted a brow. "That doesn't bode well for us. But there are scarcely any humans remaining here, and they are friendless. The ancient texts warned of what might come." Kell followed her from the throne room to the antechamber. "I'm going to the observatory. If there are any changes in my father's condition, please notify me immediately." Cassandra smiled to herself as she ascended the stairs. Kell wouldn't mock her authoritative tone, but he should. She didn't know what she was doing, and she hated herself for pretending. Since the herb woman had died, her father had had no way of obtaining the concoction he needed to remain human. As the oldest werewolf, he was fated to spend most of his time in animal form, now only turning human for a few days each m

Almost paradise except the Backspace and P are still not working properly. But I found out if I keep a text file open (so I don't mess up what I'm writing) and jam those two keys really hard I can get it flowing again, but. I really could use a new computer sooner or later. But this really is paradise with a hot black tea, a pumpkin loaf that was broken and free, and my sweater which was in the truck all day and now all warm. Also I found Cinderella's egg in the back of my truck on my lunch break and kept it on my desk for the rest of the day. Just what I need before I go to the supermarket. This week I will be reviewing data every evening, so I am hurting inside (I'm not exaggerating) that I will be putting off my fairy kei dreams a little longer. I want to make a pink cardigan and embroider a little deer or elephant on it. I want to make something out of my Strawberry Shortcake fabric. I want to finish my ivory dress with the puffy rabbits. Sometimes I am still am

"Kell, you may come in." Cassandra reluctantly drew her hand from beneath her father's. "My lady, it appears that you were tracked on your way home. A young man following you at a distance watched you enter the building, then left." "I can't imagine why anyone would follow me. There was nothing unusual in my doings today. I had a job interview, then walked home alone." "A pale young man, unusually tall, with rather long, silvery hair. He wasn't human." Cassandra met the gaze of her father's principal advisor. "I did meet someone today who wasn't human. He was the barista at the coffee shop where I had my interview. He did seem a bit interested in what I was about." Kell allowed a thin smile. "That is hardly surprising, my lady. However I must warn you to use caution when making friends. Our people have enemies everywhere." "I want to know more of this man. I had never seen anyone like him before.

I am so interested in the Japanese style fairy kei. I have been following it for a while. Basically it involves wearing things from the 1980's en masse. Brightly-colored tights and leggings, those screen printed T shirts with unicorns on them from the carnivals, plastic jewelry and toy character accessories, such as My Little Pony or Care Bears. Okay, I'm testing my Twitter feed now. Did it work? I am going to color my hair though. I have been wearing it much bigger since I bought some Rave hair spray, but I need to take things further. I want to be Lady Lovelylocks. ?

Cassandra chanted to herself as she unlocked the door of a plain stone building. The sky was darkening rapidly; the wind whipped her long, curly hair around the tailored shoulders of her only blazer. "I think I got it. I know I'm qualified. I know I am. Dad!" Her voice echoed down the shadowed staircase leading underground. A network of tunnels and cavernous rooms lay beneath the abandoned city of Drommende. Cassandra belonged to this renegade population. "Dad!" A far-away growling answered her call. "Dad," she groaned. The echo of trickling water followed her steps as she hurried down the steps, her black portfolio dangling from one shoulder. From her matching handbag she withdrew an incongruous key, ornately wrought of pure silver, on which a dark pink velvet ribbon was tied. Cassandra opened a large, heavy door with it at the bottom of the stairs and as quickly as its size and weight allowed, closed it behind her and bolted it. The growling

Okay, I have given the timed writing challenges some more thought. My first challenge will be to finish the stories I have started on this journal-The Empty City, and The Soul of the Rose. I don't think it will want to write the same story every day. Monday, I re-wrote the first page of Madelyn . My first writing of it was fraught with passion and pain, and it was terrible. There is something to be said for a cool, analytical mood. However I realized it was a rare thing that I should be moved to work on Madelyn . And I am not sure if I should jump ship on it anyway. I am sort of attacking a whole worship belief , and I'm not sure that's justified. At the same time, when I see or hear something related to that belief that upsets me, I take it to Madelyn and find relief. It's a sort of style related to another story I wrote several years ago called The Ballad of Mary Ellen . They are both country, weedy 1930's-style stories where adolescents learn they can't tru

Reading Mary using http://itunes.com/apps/Stanza . "MARY→CHAP. I.": The Platonic Marriage, Eliza Warwick, and some other interesting tales were perused with eagerness.

Location: Canyon of the Eagles

In our quiet resort on the lake, I am experiencing amazing peace and freedom. I had no idea this respite was around the corner for me. Location: Ellen Halbert Dr,Burnet,United States

She has him now: he is her lover; she is his darling: she will be far more his darling yet when they are married: the more Robert knows of Shirley, the more his soul will cleave to her. They will both be happy, and I do not grudge them their bliss; but I groan under my own misery: some of my suffering is very acute. Truly, I ought not to have been born: they should have smothered me at the first cry.' At this passage this morning I laughed pretty helplessly. Caroline enters into this soliloquy after watching Robert, with whom she is secretly in love, walking in the moonlight with Shirley. Now admittedly walking in the moonlight is a little suspect, but smothered at the first cry? I wasn't totally sure I should be laughing-but it reminded me so much of Anne of Green Gables and her passionate outbursts. Ah-it is so refreshing to be passionate. It's a very different thing-your needs radiating as an inner star, bursting out through a barrier of reluctance and discretion. It&

Now sitting in the meeting room watching a video about juries. They showed a clip from To Kill a Mockingbird. I had to take off my shoes and coat for the X Ray. Some people said they wished they were at the airport going somewhere. Yes! No matter what happens I get super treats and eats today. I can't wait to start my new Christine Feehan. Location: Chestnut Ct,Fort Worth,United States

I have been savoring the article in Victoria this morning about the pen friendship between Grace Coolidge and Grace Medinas in Chicago, and musing about the few people I have met on the Internet. I would not say they are like me, more that I admire them, and my husband is accustomed to being updated on their doings and receives the information with as much seriousness as if they were truly my neighbors. This morning I gave the chickens water. They have been drinking much more lately and are always out. Watching them trot across the lawn is something I still have to stop and watch.

There is a season, turn, turn, turn. I loved that song as a child. I am discovering a new love for it now. Monday I had what I described as a turning. I moved from feeling bleak and desolate to born and clear. Today my optimism rises even higher as I begin new projects and feel like I will have everything I ever wanted, or will want. I am overwhelmed with clarity and newness. I have been wearing white to recognize how I feel inside. But soon I will wear colors again, and then I will wear black again. I know the autumn and winter will come. I don't know when. The cycle of my feelings moves in several months, maybe even two years. Even as I recognize that this inner spring will turn I still feel its glow. I am this spring for the present. Determined to continue my studies I have long left I took an older journal mostly blank for this break since I can't find my current journal. I turn to this entry, 1/23/02 Yesterday I taught 1st grade-- it was more trying than I even imagined. I

Finishing up bits and pieces of my stories into novellas Unpolished work, published live Will not necessarily write every day, but will keep to a story arc i.e. story will begin on the first of the month. By the 15th, the story will be halfway through, and the story will end on the last day of the month. My goal is to spend one month pre-writing and gathering materials, i.e. graphics and design elements to complement the writing, and one month writing the story. I will estimate my story's length at 16,000 words. That will be 4000 words per week, 1000 words in each writing session. However I will not correspond by a word count requirement, but by a story arc requirement. My goal is to keep up with the story arc timing. In my outlines I will set dates and events which will be written on those dates in greater detail.

of writing extremely depressed poetry a wonderful discovery that hazelnut creamer in hazelnut coffee is not too much hazelnut and actually delicious reading vintage romance novel with my cockatiel, who evolved from upon my shoulder to sitting under my chin ironing cloth napkins taking pictures of things doing some dishes trying to fix the file of the novel I am writing which became corrupted when my laptop battery ran out feeling like if I deleted that file and started over I would be better off, ha ha feeling so much better after I wrote that depressed poem took an egg from Snow White's favorite hollow it was cold and gray all morning, the air looked like an autumnal corpse, which suited my mood perfectly it is sunny and cheerful now, which suits my mood perfectly

As I sit in semi-darkness, Surrounded in a tower of stone, I wonder why, Why I don't leave? What holds me here? This curse, a superstition That if I leave my place the tower will crumble, and I will die. A cold wind blows, And the sun comes and goes intermittently. I find I no longer have a mind for writing novels. My thoughts are too quick and insubstantial. I can't make up my mind about anything. I turn the old myths over and over. It's all I trust anymore. They are all I have to explain myself. Why don't I leave? Why do I sit and rot? I just sit and watch the seasons, And from my limited position try to appreciate everything I can see through my small window. I didn't think it would be this way. I don't know why it is. It seems that even once upon a time while I dreamed That life would be so grand, The seeds for my destruction were already firmly planted within myself. I don't know why I believed when there was no reason to, No evidence before my eyes of

Every skill I ever had will be in question. Every ill I ever suffered merely brought on by myself. But the cops will come for someone else. <3

I don't know how I will go and do my paying job now. I have let it go too long, and it is hard getting back.

  I have not shared any photos of my chickens since they have grown. Till recently I kept them in the shed, but that wasn't working out. This summer has been unusually hot, and they were panting constantly. I couldn't even keep them in water because it kept evaporating. So one day I just opened the barn door and they walked directly into my life, and have upended our household. It feels like our land is now ruled by these chickens. Prince Charming, and Cinderella, most likely the layer of all these eggs. The two are constant companions.   Beauty, and Snow White.     In the evening, they perch on the fence, and one by one fly up into a large oak in the front yard. They settle in for the night. In the morning, Prince Charming is the first to rise. Right now, he begins crowing at about 5 a.m. Now that I have begun doing my embroidery in the morning, I am awake before him. While embroidering, I am listening to Shirley , by Charlotte Bronte. I am awed by Librivox, and it s

  On leaving Texas we stopped at a coffee shop. On its grounds lay remains of the past-an old gas pump, an Airstream, a junk car.     Chillicothe, Texas.

"Do you know what Ashley bought Taylor this weekend? Two hamsters. Do you know how to say no to kids? No." Two hamsters. Ashley is so lucky.

Something about the slant of light and my dress and shoes and the after work reminded me of going to Summer Party on my lunch break five years ago. It was so glorious to be out of the office in there for an hour. It was always wonderful, always gracious. Even though Target is a little out of the way on my way home I wanted to reconsider storage cubes for nesting boxes, among other things. This moment to take a breath is pure and free life. It must be the light, it is so warm.

Even when I don't believe I still believe.

Living quietly, thinking and not producing, instead working and making my life's thesis. Some new things. I found two perfect, small cafe au lait colored eggs in the crook of one of the trees in the front yard. Thank you to whoever laid those. I know they have another stash elsewhere, and I will find it. I began gardening again this weekend. Between my neglect and the sun's scorching heat my earlier efforts were reduced to nothing. The summer has very few survivors. Almost certainly my cocoa rose, maybe the blue girl rose and gardenia. And I am traveling with handkerchief. I am still having a hard time carrying a thermos. But I thought I would make another small effort, and it's vintage, of course.

  From Anton Cemetery in Anton, Texas, close to the New Mexico border.

The sun burned the ground and my skin and the steel signs. It bleached all it touched, and the empty shells of buildings consisted of slender lumber that trembled in the wind like bones. On the ground before me a snake shuddered, the only inhabitant of this lonely place where the wind soughed through the buildings. In this place, we were as welcome as we were unwelcome.    I was standing on the very last stretch of Texas, but the buildings represented the style of New Mexico. The walls were between one and two feet thick, formed of clay, and as I stood on the threshold, a cold breeze drifted toward me. I could not tell anything about the debris in the buildings. I guessed-a cigarette machine, a gambling device? I know a little about what dwells on the outskirts of society. But whatever happened here I could not tell. Perhaps even fifty years was enough to remove all traces of recognition. What had once been a post office, and a laundromat, were piles of rubble fallen throu

I'm sorry to have frightened you. Well, my blog does tend to the gothic, so you never know when you're going to see a dusky picture of me and my cockatiel. Unfortunately he considers my iPhone a rival and is now really mad. He also gets very cranky at night, so going to put us both to bed. I am not yet caught up on sleep since last week's crunch.

"A feminist is any woman who tells the truth about her life." - Virginia Woolf As I near the end of Faith and Feminism, I have more questions than when I started. But I am learning that questions are better guides than answers. My first question is, Where does my essential energy lie? And within that, all these uncomfortable barbs and doubts needle my mind. I no longer have the deep visionary desire to write as I once did. I am not wrought with ambition to see my name in print. I no longer care if it ever is. I see my lack of notice from the world as good because I am not influenced by what others see in me, or my imagined perception of this, before I am secure enough to deal with something like that as a writer with an audience who receives many comments. My feelings about writing books have changed from the burning need to write, as an adolescent, to the driving need to be in print, whatever I wrote, as a college student, to a deep reluctance to submit anything, for fear

. here . As time allows, I will make photo stories, but I want to take my time, since I am in the middle of many things right now.

Right now we are on Route 66 at a restored motor inn called the Blue Swallow. The moon is almost completely full and glowing more brightly by the moment. Next door the Economy Inn is completely abandoned. A high wall surrounds the pool, which must be drained. The sky looks like a painting, pink and blue clouds surreal, and in the distance dark clouds hover over Tucumcari Mountain. It doesn't seem quite real that I am here, experiencing the real thing after dreaming for so long. The other guests like to just sit on the lawn furniture outside their rooms and enjoy the evening, and we are at the picnic tables, next to a barbeque grille and a set of yellow plastic picnic chairs and stumps where the table top used to be. I have been on and off Route 66 for the better part of a week, and I am leaving it behind. Spoiled girl, all I feel is disappointed it is almost over. But there will be pictures.

We have visited several bookstores on our journey and just came home on threat of rain from the Crave coffee shop. We spent the longest time poring over our finds to the sound of thunder and sight of darkening sky. However I brought several books with me, also. The Route 66 Cookbook , Marian Clark, which I have been using as a guidebook to find unique places. Indian Arts of the Southwest , Susanne and Jake Page, information on local reservations and the crafts particular tribes create. Story Structure Architect , Victoria Schmidt, as I revise my stories. Falcon's Haunt , Carol Warburton, a gothic novel set in historical Mexico. I always like to read a novel related to my vacation locale, and this was my closest find. I did however finish The Turquoise Mask, by Phyllis Whitney, last summer, which described Albuquerque and the surrounding countryside vividly. From Collected Works , Santa Fe: A Taste of Enchantment: Treasured Recipes from the Junior League of Albuquerque . It

I am revising my goals slightly and adding a new one. I have been thinking about this one for a few days and decided I am ready to try it. I also have some others in mind, but I don't think I am ready for them yet. This is something I'm taking seriously, and if I break my resolution it's quite deflating. My new goal is to go to bed on time. That's different for different days. Some nights we may stay out late. But if we're home, I want to go to bed on time every night. It will have such a great effect on my health. I know that from experience.

Last night I dreamed I found a great deal of postcards that were written by my aunt in an antique shop. I thought that they must be there because there had been an estate sale after my grandparents had sold their home years ago. I guessed that they had been written to them from my aunt. I purchased the post cards, feeling I must have them, and felt anxious to go back to the antique shop, because there must be some more of my grandmother's things there.

We are resting after our day's drive to Amarillo. Today we stopped at an antique store in Quanah and later a coffee shop in Childress. I found five sewing patterns: a Gunne Sax wedding gown and bridesmaids' gowns, a Gunne Sax blouse and skirt, a secretary dress with variations, a sweater set variety and a Western blazer with puffed sleeves - which I would not normally have considered but the cut of it is quite innocent and sweet. I also got a porcelain powder ball with a yellow rose which looked just right for my dresser top. I think when I get home I am going to change its look to the perfume bottles on a mirror top, especially as I start collecting perfumes from the 1970's and 1980's (I think the dilapidation of the scent is romantic, but it is never a good idea to wear old fragrances due to the chemical decomposition). I am a little stressed that the Internet in our hotel is not working. Thus this post may be delayed. I have not reserved our hotel room in Santa

Right now I feel so so mad about little things. I'm mad because I have to go to the salon and get my hair fixed even though I told her I wanted my bangs shorter, and I have so much else I need to do anyway. I should have been assertive about both the length and the bangs. I was trying to be agreeable and that is really so stupid. I'm mad because the iPhone crashes out of things randomly, doesn't post some of my blog pics and formats some of my posts wrong, so I cannot really express myself creatively through my blogs without fear of it being garbled or lost. I hate it, and I hate that it auto-completes so badly, and I hate the tiny keyboard and the apps and iTunes and everything, all of it. It's for common people. I want my Treo back. I want my fringe back. I hate the modern world. I hate layers and bangs swept to the side. I do not want to be like everyone else. I am not a hen that needs to hang with the group and do what they do. I am so tired of people assuming that&

Honestly I question if I should be in Fort Worth or even Texas. I don't think I will ever find kindred spirits here. And I am so tired of other people's conformist attitudes. I know I am mostly mad now about the second man to trespass on my land and act like it was more his than mine. But I have been thinking about it for a couple of weeks now. Who would I be if I lived elsewhere and could branch out? I admit I hate reactions to my differentness so much that I hide myself, but the logical side of it is I have already tried, it is not worth it to try to get others to accept me for myself. The only situations are when they have to live with me on a regular basis, like at work, and they just have no reaction to me after a while. What if I cast a circle in the middle of the field in broad daylight? Do I really think someone else will start shouting at me or worse? Yes, I really do. It is not paranoia but a logical conclusion from the characters I have picked up on. So should I do i

Yesterday I had an encounter with another ignorant local. As usual these yodels come right up on the land and mention how they really wanted to buy it, as though that alone gives them some right to it, though curiously the house lay untouched on the market for at least a year and while overpriced, it was not that difficult to get the sellers to lower the price, even dealing with richies like ourselves. This man seemed indignant about the fact that we had bought this property and had no animals on it. He wanted to lease our land, a no, and then to sell us horses. I detest horses, really. Everyone around us is a freak for them and I don't understand them, I don't understand this culture. Really it has me asking some quite upheaving questions lately. Sigh, more later.

She's still my favorite chicken. She has a gentle spirit.

My goal is to finish my Indian Arts book by next Friday. To be honest as has been with many books lately I get so spun off and tangential about it I don't know if I will ever get through what is only about 80 pages with lots of pictures. The small bits I pick up about religion and history of the Southwest tribes keeping expanding and circling around my mind. I am at the bottom of a ladder again, and I am feeling like I know nothing, which I think is the dark side of Beginner's Mind. I start looking on Flickr, I see something else, I become transfixed by kinds of beauty I never before saw or imagined. To be honest that summarizes most of what I have been feeling here. I wish, well, I wish I could have known what it is like to be an Indian in the Southwest, to experience that crossover of tradition and the modern world. It sounds like life there is very, very low tech. When I consider the simplicity at the heart of these traditions it blows my mind and makes me feel like I am doi

There is always the possibility that if I'm too shy to do what I want to in this life,     that I can do it in the next one. So I could put my dreams and visions of personal confession and self-expression on hold and do the things I'm supposed to do, like the laundry. But even though I will live again, I will never be this person again, and I feel like I should make the effort to do everything that occurs to me. Maybe I was meant to do some of the things Sonya Tolstoy did in her self-photography in the nineteenth century. Now Goddess knows taking pictures of myself gets mighty old mighty fast. See, it already did. But I needed to see myself in summer. This is my favorite time of year. I almost hate it while it's happening because I know it's going to end. The cicadas buzz and the trees sway and all the living things are begging for mercy from the relentless heat. I hate it for not lasting forever. And I got my hair cut, so I wanted to commemorate that too.

I have spent the evening perusing my favorite novel of old, searching out its secrets, looking for the ways. As I revise Winter Light I feel the urgency to shape it now. I don't know if I should shape it in subtle shades with multiple drafts, or give it a large overhaul. I guess I should change whatever it occurs to me to change at least. Looking at the novel gave me confidence though. That favorite story is not the story I want to tell at all, but I think I can tell mine as well. The romance is what was popular in the mid-1990's, with lots of lavish costume, lingerie, candlelit baths, also a subplot of smuggling and intrigue which I find so dull I can't even read the book start to finish. Romance and adventure go together like peanut butter and bananas, yum to one, yuck to the other, but I know some people like both. Hey, it's fine. If peanut butter is romance, then gothic castles are honey. That's my preferred snack. And the more I work Winter Light,

I am so tired, so tired, of eating, sleeping. I think of Hemingway's Old Man, who was so tired of living that he no longer ate. My body is hungry, but my soul is not, it is a not wanting that is not contentment. To want is to live. I am writing every day. I am filling in passages of Winter Light I did not feel like writing years ago. I left empty spaces. Well, creativity and discipline do not always go hand in hand, and I can forgive her for leaving me the hard stuff to write when I remember how glorious it felt to stay late in my room with a little light burning, with as little understanding of the science studies that fill my days as now, writing the dramatic scenes that delineated Winter Light. I am writing a little every day as I revise. Perhaps half a page. I have found little interesting reading lately. I have tried many things, but nothing occupies me for long. I feel some small passion for The Mysteries of Udolpho, but nothing else worth mentioning. I tried earlier this wee