Brussels Sprouts! Fall Garden!

We've never grown much besides lettuce, spinach and collards in our fall garden, but this year we're branching out to brassicas--broccoli, Brussels sprouts, cauliflower and cabbage. I have no idea how long this stuff takes to grow, but I love having a green garden in October.

The remains of the lima bean vine. It's done producing, but I can't bring myself to tear it down. It's a nice piece of architecture in the middle of the garden.

So here I am, posting a new post only minutes after I posted my last post! And I don't have much to say, but I'm trying to get back in the habit, so here goes.

I'm in the process of planning a summer writing workshop for kids. It would be a week-long morning workshop, and I'm interested in exploring not just the writing process but creativity in general. To that end, I want the workshop to involve a lot of creative play. You might write about a character, but you might also spend time drawing a map of your character's neighborhood, making a diorama of her room, even sewing her a (small) quilt and then explaining what the different fabrics mean to your character.

One of my dreams has been to "build" one of my books not only through words, but also through artifacts. Maps and wardrobes and forks and spoons and buttons. In a story I'm working on now, for instance, there is a weekly newspaper published for the town's African American community. If I built the world of this story, I'd actually write an issue of this paper and print it.

It would be a kind of theatre, I guess, with sets and props and costumes. I could have exhibits in my attic! I'd only charge a dollar to see it!

So I think my writing workshop would really be a world-building workshop. Do you build worlds? Do you have collections, altars, dollhouses?

Oh, before I forget, my Halloween quilt (I'm going to finish quilting it today, I hope):

Boo!

Since we last spoke, I've been to New Orleans and Nashville. Both were lovely. In New Orleans I ate beignets, which is required, and spent time at the wonderful Ogden Museum of Southern Art, which I highly recommend.

Detail from a Rev. Howard Finster painting

In Nashville, I ran into people. I ran into my friend Nancy's husband, Rick, and I ran into YA author Sarah Dessen, who lives five miles away from my house and who I only ever seem to see in Nashville,  and I shook hands with a true American hero, Rep. John Lewis (D-GA). I also saw Wynonna Judd at the airport. I did not actually run into Wynonna, but simply admired her (and her hair of many colors) from afar.

Now I'm home and settling in for awhile, at least until I go visit my mom in a few weeks. She's doing well. She's finished four rounds of chemo, with two more left to go. Her doctors are very hopeful about her chances for remission.

"The true secret of happiness lies in the taking a genuine interest in all the details of life."

--William Morris, The Aims of Art

I love this time of year. It's a very home-y time of year, if you're lucky enough to spend it at home. I'm back to making quilts, after a months-long pause, and already thinking about Christmas, in hopes of making it less insane this year.

Since it is my sabbath year, I've been pondering the meaning of life quite a bit (I assume this also has to do with the fact that I'm just shy of turning fifty and also that my mother is very ill). Sometimes meaning escapes me. Sometimes religious truths are just too abstract. What does it mean to love God with all my heart? What does it mean to love, period?

I'm not entirely sure, but I think it has something to do with paying attention. We're making that harder and harder, what with all our addictive devices that draw us away from the people at hand. But I think one of the best ways to love another person is to be fully present with them, the way we ask God to be fully present with us.

I've also been thinking a lot about healing--as in the healing of the heart. Every day has its slings and arrows; it's almost impossible not to return home without a least a few scratches. How can we be healers and how can we be healed ourselves? Again, paying attention and being present. By creating spaces that are restorative. By telling funny stories at the dinner table.

Another concept--

(let me take a break here: one of the reasons I haven't been blogging much is because this is how my thinking is going right now--as in, all over the place and searching and not really easy to sum up; but the problem is, if I'm away from the blog too long, I miss your company. I really do. So bear with me, please!)

Soul food. Our souls need feeding on a daily basis! I think as a culture we have forgotten this, if we ever knew it in the first place. When we don't feed our souls, we lose our way. We start telling lies to our children about how the most important thing in life is getting into an ivy league college and having a brilliant career. And then we wonder why they binge drink.  Their souls are empty and they're trying to fill them up in the crappiest way possible--alcohol and porn and hooking up. But of course those things don't feed the soul, they crush it.

Soul food. Walking and talking and art and God and sitting quietly on the porch and, yes, food! Asking someone if you can help. Remembering to take care of yourself by exercising and eat fresh vegetables and listening to the Staple Singers while you're going to pick up the kids from school. 

Anyway, back to it being a home-y time of year. I find a great deal of meaning and purpose at home. If what I'm after is peace, reconciliation, restoration and healing, then I can't think of a better place for all that than at home. To hope for these things, for myself, my family and the world, how better than to start at home? To clean the bathrooms and bake a pie and to ask the Man how his day went and actually sit down and listen to what he says instead of just nodding and wishing I could get on to the next thing.

So that's what I've been pondering and that's what gives my life meaning and I hope you'll find a way today to eat a little soul food and give a little love. The end!

This is what I started writing on Friday:

I'm sitting here in my gym clothes, eating chocolate. I'm going to the gym just as soon as I write this. Really. I am.

Last night was Parents' Night at Our Fine Upper School. About 85% of the moms were rocking the sleeveless thing. I mean, you would not believe the number of sculpted upper arms on this population. Not me. I have flabby, middle-age upper arms with knobby elbows that always look like they need to be scrubbed (this is also true of my knees: flabby and bony at the same time, plus they're always three shades darker than the surrounding skin.

Anyway, we went to all of Jack's classes and met all of his teachers. 

But that's as far as I got. Still, I think the part about my flabby arms is important to share.
 
Later today, I'm going to New Orleans. I just found out last week that I'd be going to New Orleans today. I thought I was going October 19th. Quite a shock to my system, as you might imagine. I need at least a month to get mentally and emotionally prepared for these trips. I'm going for a booksellers' convention. I'll be sitting on a panel tomorrow afternoon with other middle grade fiction writers called "Stuck in the Middle." I have no idea what we'll be discussing. Saturday, I come back home.

I don't mind traveling (though I don't particularly like to fly, as I'm prone to motion sickness), but I don't much like traveling alone. It gets lonely. I don't think we're built to be catapulted by ourselves out of our homes and communities into other communities 800 miles away where we don't know anybody and have no ties.

Having said that, I am looking forward to going down to the French Quarter and sitting on a bench that overlooks the great and mighty Mississippi river.

In general, things here are going well. I've been having some bouts of the afternoon blues, but I think this is because I haven't been social enough. I was really enjoying my alone time the first few weeks of school, but I let myself get too alone. Life is hard for an introvert, achieving the right balance. So I'm planning coffee and lunches with friends and doing some volunteer work over at the Folklife Institute. I need some human connection after my writing time in the morning. 

I'm doing my best not to sign up for extra stuff, though temptation looms large. Have I mentioned that I turned 49 this year? 49 is a seventh year, which means it's a sabbath year, and I feel that I should take this year off and get some rest. There's always so much I want to do, but I just have to accept I can't do everything.

I like volunteering over at the Folklife Institute, and there's a month-long seminar on poverty at the new church I've been going to lately that meets on Tuesday nights in October. I think I might attend that. Otherwise, other than school volunteering stuff, I'm going to try to keep my commitments to a minimum.

Parenting, writing, reading, gardening. That should be enough, right? Oh, and quilting and finally getting that attic straightened out once and for all and organizing the closets ...

Do you do too much? What are you thinking about giving up?

We have a mystery on our hands. After three, possibly four years of wearing nothing but polo shirts, Jack has suddenly taken to wearing tee shirts. He had to take tee shirts with him on his class camping trip last week, and since he's returned home, he's worn nothing but. To be honest, he looks adorable, and I'm wondering if some girl on the trip told him he was cute.

But just when I wondered if Jack was morphing into an entirely new creature, today when I dropped him off at Reid's pool party he grabbed his book as he hopped out of the car. "Don't bring a book," I told him. "By bringing a book to a party, you're signaling that you expect to be bored."

"They'll think it's weird if I don't show up with a book," Jack argued. "It's what they expect."

I suppose there's some truth to that.

Happy Labor Day, to those of you who observe the holiday. Labor Day has become one of those holidays that have lost all meaning, as far as I can tell. We don't have a Labor party here, and labor unions are out of favor with a lot of folks. In fact, it occurred to me this morning we should just sack the original meaning of Labor Day and make it a day to honor all women who've been through labor. I think we deserve an official holiday, don't you?

Will is campaigning to get a Bearded Dragon. He's been doing tons of research this weekend and is already referring to them as "Beardies," as in "When I get my Beardie, I'm either going to call him 'Beardie' or 'Spike.'" This lizard campaign was taken up after the snake campaign was thoroughly defeated. The Man can not tolerate the thought of keeping dead mice in the freezer for the snake's dinner. I can't say the thought bothers me terribly in theory, but in practice it might be an entirely different story.

I'm putting in my fall garden. We always plant lettuce, spinach and greens, but this year I'm also planting broccoli, cauliflower, brussels sprouts and cabbage. I suspect that some percentage of this bounty will go to the local food bank, as I'm the only one in this family in love with winter veggies. But I'm having a lovely time looking out at my crops through the kitchen window.

I'm waiting for the back-to-school routine to truly kick in. The first week was the first week, which is always strange, and last week both boys went on their school trips, so that wasn't like a regular week, and this week we have Labor Day and Rosh Hashanah off, so it's not like a regular week.

You know what the funny thing is? I've spent my entire adulthood waiting for life to settle into a routine, and it never does.

My mother continues to respond well to chemotherapy. Tomorrow she goes in for round three of six. Her blood counts are nothing short of miraculous, and she's still not getting sick, but she's tired. Mostly she's reading and doing a tiny amount of sewing. Her spirits remain high, and folks are still bringing casseroles. Continued prayers are welcomed, and many, many thanks for the ones you've prayed already.

Have you read Susan Branch's A Fine Romance yet? Are you a fan of her blog? I love her. Reading her books and blog is like eating comfort food that has actual nutritional value. In any event, A Fine Romance is a handwritten diary of her trip to England last summer, and it's simply fabulous. Now I'm reading Elizabeth's German Garden, a book Susan read on her trip over to England on the Queen Mary II. It was published in 1898 (and you can download it for free from Amazon.com if you have a Kindle app!), but the feelings expressed are contemporary. Have you ever noticed that about literature, the truly good stuff? It feels like it could have been written yesterday.

I'm also reading A Green Journey by Jon Hassler. It's part of his Staggerford series, the first one I've read (and the only book of his my library has). The series is set in a small, fictional midwestern town, and this story concerns an elderly school teacher who makes a trip to Ireland. The characters seem very real to me--good people, but not perfect, not saccharine. Intelligent, observant. I'm going to buy the first book in the series when I'm done with this one.

That's my news for now. My new book came out, and you can read about it here. What are you reading right now that you would recommend?

Fabric is pretty! 

Sometimes there's just so much to write about it's hard to know where to start. Well, I'll start with my mom. She's good. She's responding incredibly well to chemotherapy, and her blood counts are great. There's a lot of guarded optimism about her chances of remission. She, of course, is certain she'll be in remission by January, and in the meantime plans on living her life instead of just waiting around to be 100% well. She has books to read, quilts to quilt, and friends to visit.

Some of the best news is that the chemo isn't making her sick. She's tired, but not nauseated. She's losing her hair, but not throwing up. Right now she's on her second round of chemo, which means she's in the hospital, but she's trying to take walks at least twice a day to keep her strength up.

So thank you for your prayers. And please continuing praying! My mom's name is Jane, and she believes that all the prayers are helping.

***

Next up: Back to school! School starts next week, and even the boys are admitting they're ready. As always on this last week of summer vacation, we're all being total slackers. I'm turning a blind eye to extra computer time and too much TV. Whatever it takes to get us through the next few days. When school starts, both of my guys are going to be crazy-busy, so they might as well be lazy while they can.

I'm living in that la-la land most moms I know live in this time of year, imagining how the return to order and routine will make my life lovely and simple and neat and tidy. I'll write lots of books and quilt lots of quilts and make lots of cookies and muffins and put in a fall garden and go to the gym at least three times a week, probably more like five, and, oh yes, lose that last fifteen pounds. It's all possible!

History has not proven this out. Oh, those first couple of weeks of school are glorious. Things are neat and tidy, making lunches every night isn't a pain, and the children jump out of bed like little jumping beans before the alarm even goes off. By week three, of course, it all falls apart, but let's not ruin the dream, shall we? Let's pretend a little longer.

***

I wonder how I'll remember this summer. There have been some lovely moments. Many of them have taken place on my screen porch early mornings, the garden filled with butterflies and hummingbirds. But there's also been the intensity of my mother's illness. You always wonder how you will bear things.

What's hardest to bear right now is my father's anxieties. He's so worried and afraid. He won't be comforted, and to be honest, I don't really know what to do but pray for him.

And there is the working things out with my brothers--how often should we go see my parents? What do they need from us? My older brother, himself a cancer survivor, thinks one of us should go every other week for a few days. I'm not convinced that's what my parents want, but my brother (who is a dear, thoughtful man, but like all of us is bringing some baggage to the table) is not convinced we should leave these decisions in my parents' hands.

This is a discussion we've just started having, but it's made me realize that even the best-intentioned people (and I think that would describe everyone involved here) can be at odds with one another in a way that can result in hurt feelings, tension, even rifts. I'm proceeding with caution. Everyone is tired and emotional.

In spite of the sadness and the tiredness, I'm actually doing okay. I know I'm delusional about the order and tidiness I imagine fall will bring, but I'm still energized by the dream. So onward into September, into cool mornings and high blue skies and a fall garden filled with lettuce and kale. God is good. Let us proceed.

Jack's backpack, which he carried from preschool until fifth grade. I tried to toss it in the trash, but the Man was appalled I would even consider such a thing. And you wonder why decluttering my attic is such a problem.

I need to make this quick. I have a haircut appointment in forty-five minutes and I mustn't be late, especially since I cut my own bangs last week and did a remarkably bad job of it. It's become hard to look in the mirror.

It's 10 o'clock on Tuesday morning. The Man has gone to work, and Jack and Will are still asleep. This is the first summer that Will has slept in. As we know, sleeping means growing. It won't be long before I'm the shortest person in this house.

Right now, I'm trying to fight off a cold. I'm supposed to go visit my mom tomorrow, but she has approximately ten white blood cells right now, so I can't go if I'm the least bit sick. Will had a cold last week, and I can feel it coming after me, so I'm drinking lots of tea and taking zinc lozenges every two hours. I feel like I have 1/8th of a cold. I'll probably put off my trip until Thursday, just to be safe.

So, my mom has had one round of chemo and is home from the hospital, though she could go back again if she develops a fever. I'm very sad to report that after some initial good news, we got bad news--my mom has Stage IV Lymphoma, and there are cancer cells in her bone marrow. There is still hope the cancer can be tamed into remission, but it will be a hard fight. Please keep praying!

In the midst of all of this, life, to nobody's surprise, goes on. People get haircuts, boys spend too much time on the computer, dinner gets made. On Saturday, the Man picked up Jack from camp. Good thing Jack called on Friday to ask what time he was getting picked up the next day--we had planned to pick him up Sunday. We can't figure out why, since every bit of documentation says clearly Pick Up Your Child on July 27th and Not a Second Later. We're old; we get confused.

So Jack arrived home an inch taller, relatively clean, nails recently clipped (I dreamed a couple of weeks ago that he never clipped his nails at camp, and when we picked him up they were like Cher's.) It's clear he had a great time, because he actually told us stuff that happened. He actually shared with us. Amazing! And then he went upstairs and we haven't seen him since.

Will is getting over his cold, and I hope to take him to the pool today. It's beautiful outside, sunny and in the low '80s. A good day to swim, and if you're me, lounge in the shade, fight off a cold, hope that everyone gets well soon.

A List for a Post

Will's friend Jackson going off the high dive.

Things I've been thinking about, in no particular order ...

1. Theologian Sam Wells says that if you can't make it happy, make it beautiful. I can't be happy about my mom's cancer, but I can knit her soft, peach-colored socks and send up prayers of gratitude that she doesn't feel sick in spite of the chemo, and that her friends, family and church folks are gathering around her. I can call her on the phone every day and tell her that I love her.

2. My mom could live to be ninety-nine, and I'll still be sad when she dies.

3. I hope my mom lives to be ninety-nine.

4. A question I need to ask myself every day: What feeds me? I've been going to Weight Watchers, and a couple of weeks ago the meeting leader asked us, "How many times have you eaten something and then thought, 'That wasn't worth it'?" For me, the answer is: too many times to count. I've eaten junky stuff just because I wanted the comfort of food, and then realized that junky food doesn't comfort me.

But a sliced homegrown tomato with basil leaves, mozzarella and a splash of balsamic vinegar? That feeds me.

And it's not just about food. I'm trying to get better about not surfing the Internet when I'm bored, and picking up a book instead. I'm always complaining I don't have time to read, but maybe that's because I waste too much time checking Facebook or Pinterest or seeing if any interesting articles have been posted on Slate. And afterwards I feel the same way I feel when I've eaten a stale supermarket doughnut. Undernourished. A little bit ill.

What feeds me is good talk with friends or the Man, walks with Travis, poetry, time in the garden, good books. And homegrown tomatoes, of course.

5. I'm ready for Jack to come home.

6. There's a part of my driveway where the trees on each side form a canopy with their branches. I don't know why this makes me so happy, but it does.

7. I know the Royal Family is mostly make-believe, and we have no idea what these people are really like, but the pictures of Kate and William holding their baby are so lovely, you can't help but feeling like a tender aunt, wishing them all the best as they start their brand new family.