The grass is a little damp, the mower more difficult to push. When I am done, after several breaks that leave me feeling disappointed in my stamina, I come inside. I smell of cut grass, sweat, earth, mixed with the slightest whiff of lawnmower exhaust. Sitting with a bottle of water I down in a few thirsty gulps, I rest.

And I am happy.

(I wrote this post yesterday, and I planned to post it last night, but I couldn't get to the website.)

Copyright 2010 Melissa LaFavers

I got to scrapbook, talk to my mother and younger brother on the phone. I got to have lunch with my husband, our friend, and their boss. I got to shop and treat myself to mocha, shop some more. I ran into an acquaintance that needed a friend, and we exchanged email addresses to keep in touch better. I found good ideas for upcoming gifts and a couple of good bargains for myself. I got to spend the evening with Daniel, take a walk and listen to podcasts as a thunderstorm brewed in the sky overhead. I got to relax and spend the evening online, chatting with a good friend.

A good day, and another on the way tomorrow.

Copyright 2010 Melissa LaFavers

Tonight, as I sat in a comfy chair in our sun room, reading a great book, I had a flash of memory I decided would work really well for the exercise.

Here's my first attempt:

(In this picture) I am on a bicycle that’s too big for me. I don’t remember who it belonged to, maybe my older brother. I am struggling to reach the pedals, stealing glances at Tim. He is a boy from school, a troublemaker, but I like him. A lot. I want to "go with him," as we called it back then. I suggest it to him, and he tilts his head in consideration, but he doesn’t answer. I’m both thrilled and disappointed at the same time. We were in fourth grade.

And with that, I'm off to bed...

Copyright 2010 Melissa LaFavers

A couple weeks ago, I re-discovered podcasts. I’d listened to a few awhile back when my brother-in-law was discovering all kinds of interesting things. Now, there are even more options, including two new podcasts I discovered. One is about scrapbooking, one is about size acceptance. I’ve become a subscriber to both, and I’ve spent many afternoons, walking around the neighborhood, listening and getting so absorbed in the discussions, that ninety minutes go by like nothing.

I’ve become attached to my walking time, disappointed when I can’t do it. I’m feeling inspired and rejuvenated, and I’m feeling a shift in my focus in more than one area of my life.

Yesterday, I listened to the latest episode of Paperclipping Roundtable. The special guest was Jessica Sprague, who is one of the most well-known gurus of digital scrapbooking. Digi, as it’s called in the industry, is not my cup of tea, so I was a little disappointed when I first heard Jessica was the guest. I didn’t really want to listen to a long talk about the joys of the latest digital supplies online or the hot techniques digi scrappers are using. That’s what I expected, but I was pleasantly surprised.

The discussion was about stories and how so many people are finding it important to tell their stories in a variety of ways, not limited to any specific scrapbooking technique. At one point, the panel was talking about journaling on scrapbook pages, and how difficult it is for some of us scrapbookers to do that. I was telling Daniel last night, I’ve been a writer for a long time, and I’ve done a lot of writing, but I still have trouble with simple scrapbook journaling. I usually cram it into whatever space is left after the photos and embellishments are glued down. It’s not the wrong way to do it, but I don’t like how the story of my pages is an afterthought, rather than the focus.

Jessica Sprague addressed the issue by reminding us that we never really forget to ride a bicycle, but if we haven’t ridden in ten years, and we get back on that bike, we’re going to be wobbly at first. Then she suggested getting a bound journal or a notebook and writing all the time for practice. It was one of those moments when I felt like I was being personally addressed. Do this. How much clearer can it be?

Because lately...I’ve been thinking again about writing. I’ve talked about it so much on this blog, and I’ve thought about it so much in those moments of driving to the grocery store, sweeping the floor, watching television, hearing a song I knew in high school. I always wanted to be a writer, but I’m not actually writing, and I don’t know why.

When I sit down to do Writing, the big important project, I’m stumped. Blocked, frustrated. Sentences simply don’t come together with the ease they once did. Why not? Why have I been contained behind this steel wall writer’s block for so, so long?

Not long ago, maybe a couple weeks, I tentatively picked up Natalie Goldberg’s book, Writing Down the Bones. It has always been my refresher course in inspiration. I know what it’s about. I’ve read it many times, and it always rekindles my writing spark, fans that little ember, and gets the fire lit again. Every single time, which is why I love it so much. I read the introduction, and I felt that old energy flowing through me again. The excitement of writing.

I haven’t read any more since, but I feel like the message from myself is to return to practice. Like with scrapbook pages, writing needs to be the focus of my life, not an afterthought. It has become something that languishes at the bottom of my to-do list, and it needs to be at the top, above laundry, above emails to be answered, above volunteer work, above scrapbooking. If I want to be a writer, then dammit, I need to answer the call already, quit lollygagging around, and start writing.

Every day.

Even if it’s a sentence. Even if it’s just ten minutes of practice. Even if I write, as Natalie Goldberg says, “the worst junk in America.” Because if I practice, eventually, it won’t be the worst junk. I will remember again. I will write with the proficiency that used to come easy when I was young and wrote all the time and didn’t think of it as Writing.

The point, in my life as in my scrapbooking, is to tell the story. That’s what matters.

Copyright 2010 Melissa LaFavers

This morning, my little brother called me, and we were cut off as we were saying goodbye. I shared our phone conversation with Daniel, who was sitting next to me. Later this afternoon, my brother called me back and said he could hear us talking, faintly. He could hear my voice, then Daniel's, but he couldn't quite understand our words.

I use a flip phone, and it was closed. I'm not sure how even a faint bit of conversation reached my little brother's ears all the way in Texas.

Weird.

Now, bedtime.

Copyright 2010 Melissa LaFavers

But for me, it's always been like a tool I don't know how to hold in my hand, much less use. Almost without exception, I wind up turning it inward, blaming myself. Probably so I can maintain a false sense of retroactive control over whatever situation has caused me to suffer and feel that fight response in the first place.

While today's ire is in response to a specific action by a specific person who is behaving like a spoiled toddler, lately I've found myself more frequently irritated by the shenanigans of people all around me.

The lickknobs riding my bumper no matter where I'm going or how fast I'm driving that almost always wind up right in front of me at the next red light.

The neighbor a few doors down who has always been pleasant to me directly, but somehow doesn't understand that cranking up his car stereo so that the whole neighborhood can hear just the baseline of his music is, well, a little rude.

The media blowhards constantly stirring people up into a froth because they get off on watching people hate each other.

The person who spent his time and energy coming up with a "joke" email to circulate, ridiculing fat people.

The woman at Target who parked her cart right in front of me, completely disregarding me as if I didn't exist, and probably not even realizing she was doing it, she was so self-absorbed with what SHE wanted at that moment.

The lack of patience and kindness and tolerance and understanding and compassion and personal responsibility I encounter in others on a daily basis that makes me really worry about the state of humanity and where this is all headed.

Since I can remember, I've always been aware of the space I take up, the impact I can have on others, the fact that my existence, my choices, my actions affect others and the world around me. I don't mind being responsible for myself. I'm getting weary of accommodating people who refuse to do the same.

I try to "play nice." For example, I would never expect the rules of a contest to be changed to suit me. I don't feel the need to lean on my car horn because the driver in front of me isn't halfway through the intersection as the light's turning green. I don't hover impatiently in the personal space of the woman in front of me at Einstein putting cream in her coffee.

Is it really so hard to behave like an adult? To control your impulses, to wait patiently, to share the world around you with others?

What's happening in our society that so many people don't ever seem to mentally progress past the age of three?

I recognize that people are flawed, that they often act out of pain, and I try to be patient with the other humans that cross my path. At the same time, I don't get that kind of consideration in reverse, and I'm feeling today like the Golden Rule is a bunch of bullshit.

That's probably the anger talking, though.

Copyright 2010 Melissa LaFavers

It doesn't happen. Not as often as I think about it or want it to. Writing, except for the journaling I do without any regularity, simply isn't on the schedule, so it doesn't get done.

And time ticks on and on, and days pass, turning in to months and years. I ask, where does the time go? It should be going to writing. Not all of it, but more of it. Definitely more of it.

The only thing to do is do it. Like with anything else. Good intentions are great, but good intentions can't do the writing. Only I can.

Copyright 2010 Melissa LaFavers

When that happens, this happens:

And this:

It's good to have a camera again.

Happy Spring!

Copyright 2010 Melissa LaFavers

The man said to another customer at the next pump, "We needed a good rain. Well, we musta needed it cause we got it."

I am fairly certain my younger brother, had he been there, would have disagreed with the man out loud. I simply chuckled to myself.

Copyright 2010 Melissa LaFavers

On our way back from Texas, Daniel and I were in the breakfast room of our hotel, where the television happened to be tuned to one of the news channels. One of the many political pundits--this one undoubtedly a member of the Republican party--spoke of the outrage of the healthcare reform bill being passed "against the will of the people" and how truly awful the financial burden will be upon American taxpayers.

How fascinating it is to me that this solemn concern for the American taxpayer didn't ever rear its noble head during the eight years that the last Republican president squandered trillions of dollars on the Iraq war. Money is still being funneled into that venture, and I have no confidence whatsoever it will ever succeed, even if there were clear definitions of what success would constitute.

As far as I'm concerned, our expenditure in the "war" in Iraq is totally and completely wasted, and I'm talking about lives lost as well as money.

Where is the outrage about that?

I shall suspend my opinion regarding the healthcare reform bill until I am more informed about its provisions. And I certainly have concerns about my tax dollars are spent and squandered.

But I wonder why Republicans take issue with using American tax dollars to take care of our own country's citizens when they didn't have any problem at all with the tax dollars poured with hurricane force, for eight years and counting, into another country with the supposed purpose of caring for people who don't pay taxes in the United States and never will.

To put it more succinctly, this righteous indignation Republicans are sporting about the cost of the healthcare reform bill, especially after what this nation endured under their party's "leadership" for eight years, runs both thin and false.

Copyright 2010 Melissa LaFavers

A long week of long days is over, and I am so happy.

I am happy to be home. I am happy to have seen my sweet, little mommy. I am happy that Daniel and I continue to forge ahead through whatever happens, turning to each other, learning and growing together. I am happy that our car didn't break down after giving us a little bit of trouble on our way from Dallas to Tyler. I am happy that I got to spend time with Olivia and Melinda and my little brother Daniel. I am happy that I got to spend time with DJ and Lyndsey. I am happy that I accomplished a lot and set in motion plans that will accomplish even more.

And grateful. So very grateful for safety, for grace, for strength, for good conversation, for this big, beautiful country. For so many more things I'm a bit too tired to record here right now.

Travel is fun and rewarding, but I love coming home.

Copyright 2010 Melissa LaFavers

I love how they appear overnight, right there in the dark, cold soil of our flower bed as the snow recedes across the lawn.

Along with the sunshine, the warmer temperatures, these lovely little blossoms trumpet the arrival of spring.

Soon.

And here they are. I took a moment on this sunny Sunday afternoon to snap a shot of these lovely flowers.

Copyright 2010 Melissa LaFavers

"Aftermath of a Doctor Visit"

I am not
ready
to embrace how
fragile
life is.

I am not
ready
for the
certainty
that this
will end
someday.

I am not
ready
to look
into the
future, watch
us both
grow old
and feeble.

Is it too
soon?

Is it too
soon
to feel
and know
and grieve
the loss
of forever?

Is it too
soon
to look
back
and wish
to savor
all of it
all over
again?

Is it too
soon
to want
more time
even while
we never
know
how much
time we
have?

Because
I am not
ready
to stop
being
young and
embrace
aging.

I am not
ready
to accept
the grey hair,
the limits,
the pills,
the slow
and certain
parade of this
organic me
into decline.

I am not
ready
to think
of me
without you
or you
without me.

I am
ready
only
to explore
and endure
and delight
in whatever
we can find
to live
together.

Copyright 2010 Melissa LaFavers

The writing muse.

She is elusive, that wild, frolicsome thing. Often coy, playing hide-n-seek, refusing to show up when I call her. Sometimes, she stays away so long, I think she is gone for good, but then...

There her whispers are in my quiet mind, telling me a new story, introducing me to new characters. I got up from bed and went straight to the computer. My fingers danced over the keys, giving form to the images the muse planted in my imagination.

Will it become anything but a scatter of paragraphs jotted onscreen on a Thursday afternoon?

I don't know yet.

But it felt good, refreshing, invigorating to be playing with words after such a long dry spell. To be in the groove of storytelling, to wonder what's next.

To be a writer again.

Copyright 2010 Melissa LaFavers

Today...the snow feels normal, part of December. A gift, yes, but not the same as when it falls on the 24th. Yuletide is over, and as I walked around the grocery store yesterday afternoon, stocking up after our week in Texas, I felt the yearly letdown of revelry fading into returning normalcy. I told Daniel, "It feels like everything is drooping."

My best friend wrote a great blog post about the way the magick about the holidays fades as we grow older. I think people with children get to maintain it as long as their kids are young. But I don't have kids, and neither does my best friend, and reading her post, I identified with her feelings about missing the sparkle children experience at holiday time.

For me, the past few years, the holidays have been even more stressful than they used to be. Traveling during November or December feels much more draining than any other time of year, and there are many more details to cover. We go to Texas by plane or by car, and we shop for gifts for my family there, rather than shopping beforehand, taking gifts along. Since we shop there, we have to wrap there, often a few hours before the gifts are unwrapped. It feels accelerated to me, sometimes like going through the motions. We don't live in the lives of the people we love, being so far away, so we have to ask, "What do you want for Yule?" And their response on the spot is often, "I have no idea."

And around and around it goes. The whirlwind of trying to make it all bright like childhood, knowing we can't recapture that wonder and innocence, largely because, we're not children. We know the deal about Santa and his elves and reindeer. We know the practical challenges of the season. We know that the picture-perfect portrait of family gatherings is in many cases a facade most people can't maintain, or even manage to create, even for one day. We can't un-know these things.

I wrote a comment to my best friend's insightful blog post. Perhaps recapturing the magick of our holiday as children isn't the answer. Perhaps as adults, we can create new magick more rooted in reality. Wonder abounds in our world; it doesn't need to be falsely manufactured. There is simple beauty in lights strung on a house, shining bright and twinkly in the dark of a winter night, whether there's snow or not. There is wonder in a tree decorated in baubles from the past. There is wonder in the love we feel for the people in our lives, and there is a keen wonder in the human spirit of giving.

Magick is everywhere and not just as holiday time.

Like snow falling on a regular Monday, making the part of me that loves winter sparkle like the child I used to be gazing at the presents under the tree.

Copyright 2009 Melissa LaFavers

Through so many changes, challenges, joys, sorrows, moves, growing pains and plain days in between, our love remains solid and safe and blissful.

The world can be a swirling mess of uncertainty, jostling us loose from our moorings, at least mentally. The two of us cling to each other through all of it, and I am happy about that, proud of us.

We never forget how lucky we are, but on this day, the eight year anniversary of the unexpected day I met him for the first time in person, the seven year anniversary of the unexpected day we celebrated our forever surrounded by people we love, I am even more aware that we have it good. So very good.

And I am so very grateful. Always.

Copyright 2009 Melissa LaFavers

Last weekend, Daniel and I started our own monumental task, painting the sunroom. The removal of the wall mounted air conditioner during our siding project, left a patch in the wall, which required us to paint the whole room. Not an easy task with its high ceilings and plethora of wood trim. Daniel took a lot of it off, but it didn't make sense to take certain portions of it off, so we are painting meticulously around those. There is a beam down the middle of the ceiling, which is not only bulky, but it is rough and riddled with spider webs I didn't even know were there until I got up close on the ladder.

So far, the job is going well. Of course we had to prime the wall with the patch, but that is now complete, and we hope to have the room painted by early next week. The color is delicious. The room was already a pale peach, which was a great backdrop to the Autumn decor we chose for that room. Color wise, we turned things up several notches. The title of the color we used is Flower Pot, a softer version of terra cotta. We love it. Color can really change the tone of a room, and once we fill it with books and comfortable furniture, adding back all that luscious Autumn stuff we've accumulated, I think it's going to be my favorite room in the house.

Today, I'm going to get some painting done while I wait to hear from the garage where our car, which we've owned less than four years, has had massive repairs done to its transmission and ABS system. Laundry is going, and the dishwasher is going, and I am feeling tired from all the reaching and standing and stretching I did spreading paint along all that wooden trim yesterday. The windows in the sunroom are open, letting the glorious cool day inside. I'll turn on music and try not to worry that the car situation won't be resolved today.

Copyright 2009 Melissa LaFavers

The leaves on these small trees turn from the inside out, so that from a distance, you can see flashes of that brilliant yellow through the green foliage.

A couple trees have already lost at least a third of their leaves, scattering them on the sidewalk.

Soon, the ground will be carpeted with papery jewels like this one.

The way the leaves capture the sunlight captivates me. Every single year.

I took these photos in my neighborhood this morning, partly for my good friend Barbara who doesn't get to experience the Autumn I have the good fortune of enjoying every year. Enjoy! There will be more to come in the weeks ahead.

Copyright 2009 Melissa LaFavers

The past few days have been cooler, much more like late September than the waning days of August. Oh, you won't hear any complaints from me. I love the cooler weather. I love that thirty days from right now, I'll probably have to wear a jacket everywhere I go. In sixty days, there may even be the first whispers of Winter in the air...

But I'm getting ahead of myself, and I love the season of harvest too much to rush through it.

Sunday afternoon, Daniel and I stopped at Greene's Hamburgers to pick up lunch and took it to Heritage Park to eat. We love Heritage Park because of its juxtaposition between civilization and the wilderness, because of its expansive trail network, because of the natural beauty everywhere we look no matter what the season. (We rarely visit during the Winter, but the few times we have, it's been beautiful, if a bit desolate during Nature's sleep.) After enjoying our burgers in the car with the windows down to let in the fresh air, we took a walk down to the deck built over the marsh land there.

The sunshine was bright, and the sky was that rich blue that only Autumn brings. As we made our way down the dirt and then wooden slat path, three deer erupted from the underbrush, frolicking for a moment or two, then settling down to eat, one on the sloped stretch of grass that will serve as a sledding hill when snow comes...

...the other two in the brambles at the bottom of the hill, almost totally concealed, ike this:

We watched (and photographed) the deer awhile before continuing to the benches on the deck. We sat and soaked up the scenery, the fresh air, the gentle breezes with that bare kiss of Autumn's chill. I lay back and closed my eyes, savoring the sunshine, the quiet, which was eventually interrupted by the approach of a child and his father, coming down the path as we departed.

At home, I carried a chair out to the front patio along with a book. I sat and read and listened to the bustle of a Sunday afternoon in our neighborhood. The ice cream truck, with its loud, saccharin tune annoying anyone within earshot, made its lengthy, sorrowful appeal through the streets. Its sickeningly sweet electronic song was suddenly interrupted, then momentarily obscured, by the louder, eerie wail of a passing emergency vehicle just as I was reading about the main female character of the novel losing her father.

I was struck by that moment, thinking there was some major life truth to be understood in it--irony?--but I couldn't quite wrap my mind around it, couldn't quite get my brain to form the words of my experience in that sixty seconds of one afternoon.

The siren dissipated into the distance, into someone else's nightmare in broad daylight, and the driver of the ice cream truck gave up when nobody wanted to buy an overpriced substandard dairy treat on an August day that felt a lot more like Autumn than Summer. He wheeled the truck around right in front of our house as he shut down the noise that passes for music, and headed into the waning afternoon.

I sat in my plastic chair, wearing my denim jacket, finishing my book and getting colder and colder until I went inside, and the warmth in the house felt good to me.

Copyright 2009 Melissa LaFavers