May 29, 2024
Today represents a notable day
in my family history, as it’s a double wedding anniversary: The eighty-first for
my parents who were married May 29, 1943, and the fifty-ninth for my brother
and his wife who were married on May 29, 1965.
This past weekend, despite the
intermittent rain, I spent some time sitting on my front porch. That’s only
notable because it’s not something I do on a regular basis anymore. Don’t get
me wrong, I truly enjoy being outside and just taking in the fresh air and,
because our porch is a covered one, indirect sunlight. In times past I would
spend an enormous amount of time out there—reading, usually, and talking to our
walnut tree.
From the time we moved into
this house, and beginning mid-spring, on days when I didn’t have to work, the
first cup of coffee of the day was enjoyed slowly, reverently, while surrounded
by empty streets, fresh air, and birdsong on that porch. When that tradition
began it was my much cherished “me” time, time to get my thoughts organized and
to simply be until it was time to do.
Times have changed, and so did
I. The times spent on the porch are rarer, which makes them even more special
to me. Now, of course, I need to bring my lap blanket, and pay attention to the
amount of breeze. But my porch remains a special, and especially comfortable
place to be.
I spent some time over this
past weekend thinking about my parents and my brother. That’s in my nature. My
thoughts were more fond than they were sad. One never truly gets over the loss
of loved ones. There may still be a teary moment here and there. But one can learn
to be at peace with the loss and to prize the memories.
The weekend certainly had more
than its share of rain. But rainy days can be conducive to thought. I found it
incredibly poignant and comforting that while I was just sitting quietly this
past Friday and Saturday, I was treated to the mingled scent of lilacs and
lily-of-the-valley. For two days in a row, that much-loved olfactory memory transported
me, taking me back to a time of peace and joy, to a time past. To a time when
adulting wasn’t yet a part of my vocabulary.
I was, however, a little miffed
at the timing of the rain. You see, just the day before, our walnut tree went
into full leaf, dropping its debris all over the sidewalk, the walkway, the vehicles…in
short, everywhere. I did ask David to take a minute and blow off the affected
areas. He countered that he thought he’d get our little worker bees in it on
Tuesday. He told me he wanted to teach them both how to use the leaf-blower.
Of course, it was also raining
yesterday (Tuesday) which means that the great-grandchildren did not do yard
work, and that detritus is still over the sidewalk and the walkway, but now is
a truly soggy and surely rotting mess instead of just a fluffy, dusty one.
Monday was so wet and chilly
that I made some potato and leek soup. Since the suggestion that I could do
that was so well received, it didn’t surprise me that the ravening mouths slurped
away in a very avid fashion. I also saw to it that our second daughter was
given a good portion.
All of my work on my latest novel
has now been completed. Love Under Two Dreamers, which will be my 70th
title for Siren-Bookstrand, is set for release on June 5. It’s time for me to
knuckle down and try to figure out what comes next. I generally plan 3 or 4
books ahead. This used to be something I did in January, each year. Now, my planning
sessions still produce a few titles, but the sessions themselves no longer
happen annually, or even in January.
I’ve decided to be kinder to
myself, and not angst over the fact that my pace of writing has slowed
post-pandemic. Instead, I am focusing on being grateful that I am still writing,
period.
I’ve decided that gratitude is
the answer to ever question, and every quandary. And the more of it I have, the
richer my life becomes.
Love,
Morgan
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