My work is done...

Love Letter to my House

      We are in the process of leaving behind a home we've lived in for 22 years, so far.  Only one baby was born here, but the other three barely remember our previous house.  They were something like 9, 6, 2 and not here yet when we moved to this 1898 Victorian.  It has five bedrooms, two baths, two stairways, and much more.  Most people walking through my house would probably think 'Charming but a bit lived-in perhaps?'  But I see below the surface level of newspapers and ankle boots and dog toys.  And as I look to moving from this house to something much smaller and a good 50 years newer, I want to document what I will miss about our Park Avenue house.  Leaving out the broad expanses of dog hair and dirty dishes that we all have, right?
     First, there is the address.  Wherever you go people take a second look when you say 'Park Avenue', I assume because of NYC and the songs.  Second is the boulevard down the center.  Who gets to live on a street with trees and flags down the center?  Not many!
     Then there are the friendly dog-walking neighbors at all time of day or night.  Reliably looking up at the architecture or porches of many more illustrious houses than my own. 


But my house, the things I want to document so I can look back some day, is in the details.  Details like the front door knob. 

Details like the trim around every window and doorway in this place (I think we have 25 windows).

Details like this broken finial (?) that I have refused to fix so it reminds me of my wonderful life, just like the movie. 

The fact the house had a lily carved in the newel post and we had a daughter named Lily probably has something to do with us taking this on and gutting it 20 years ago.

     Going back outside, there is the sidewalk that runs all the way around the house in a big oval that all the kids could ride their bikes or trikes or scooters around.  I didn't grow up with that, but it is a great thing for a family. Details like a porch swing and spindles and this bright red door that came to us this way.  Its always the perfect color once a year at Christmas-time.

Details like the windows, some of which I've written about before more eloquently in the past, but nothing is the same.  It is all unique.  That's how they did it in 1898. 

Some things I always wanted in a house include this pocket door that is still in great shape, never refinished, because it is usually hidden away.

My next house is so much smaller, I'm pretty sure it wont have a 'Christmas-tree room' like we have now.  Or two stairways, one with room for many more stockings than the 9 we have  hanging this year. 

Or this nook at the top of the stairs I've always been in love with because of its utter impracticality.

     love this picture because it represents our marriage so well.  Chuck built this pantry the first year we moved into the kitchen.  But one year for Christmas without me knowing it he added a light inside.  Something I'd waited a good 18 years for, lol.  The pantry was something we added, and are leaving behind for the next owners:

     Don't you look back and childhood photos of birthday cakes, and really, what is fun to see, is the counter behind everyone with the pencils and phone and the notepad to take messages on (no one ever used).  Or the crazy rec room carpet pattern on the floor.  It is the details that bring back childhood, and even though this house doesn't represent my own childhood, it represents my own children's childhood.  As my friends know, I'm not particularly sentimental.  About pets, or kids going to college, or empty nests.  But I am sentimental about leaving this house.  I feel good about it.  It is time.  But I do feel nostalgic for all the impromptu tumbling classes we had in the long front rooms, the coat closet at the back door I would literally throw my weight into to close with all those snowpants and snowboots and mittens.  Our chandelier that I once broke, using it as a life ring as I fell while cleaning it.  And paid a hefty penny to restore, or so it seemed at the time.  I've never made that mistake again (of cleaning it haha)...

     This is where Santa visited with a vengeance and backpacks were tossed and tossed, and tossed as they all arrived home from their respective schools to turn on Rugrats and drink their capri suns :)

So many moments here, and I'm just hoping I can remember as many as possible for safekeeping.  On to the next adventure (eventually).  We don't do anything quickly!
     Of all the houses we've had or will have, this is without a doubt the best one for Christmas-y feelings.  Last year for it!

Yearning for natural light

At the moment, I'm considering a job change.  One of the factors I have to make peace with is that instead of walking six blocks to work, many of the opportunities right now involve traveling.  Quite a bit of traveling over many miles in a car. 

Yesterday I had one interview and I drove about three hours through the country-side to meet with the interviewer, a midpoint between our hometowns.  I was prepared, but I accidentally left my list of questions at home.  Today I found them, along with many pieces of writing, some of which I just published.  A notebook tossed aside in my clothes-closet, until now.  And in this notebook is a very interesting piece to me, today. Transcribing here...

     She could feel it, a gentle breeze on her soul whenever she drove by a field.  A meadow.  Some trees on the edge, deep shade, a few bees, wildflowers: purple clover, yellow black-eyed susans, white (?) that spilled behind that rusty mailbox. Those soybeans are a brilliant lemon-yellow, then rusty copper, then soft brown.
     She sat in her cubicle with the stale air, no natural light, only light from artificial sources -- an overhead fluorescent bulb, under-storage bin desk light and a small lamp from home.  Endeavoring to recreate the feeling and mood of natural light.  Endeavoring to make the best of a ill-fitting, square-peg-round-hole thing.  Making the best of it is what she excels at.

OK, gets a little sarcastic from here, but interesting that my musings from maybe 18 months ago are answering a question I have today.  I don't recall writing it, but it is all about how I don't like working in a cubicle and wish I could get out in the natural light more.  Hmmm.... interesting. Universe? 

And I do love, love, love the road-side weeds.  I have often wanted to find out who is responsible for the natural plantings on the interstates in Illinois, in the gulley between the cars driving in opposite directions.  To thank them for not mowing but sowing. The natural wave of purple, and blends of gold and beige have seemed like a painting to me more than once.  I've never met another weed-lover but there must be one out there.  It actually endangers my driving abilities as I stare at the ever-changing, never the same combinations nature has planted.  Traveling might have its perks.

I wasn't brilliant enough to stop and take a picture yesterday, but this is the idea, courtesy of google images. Your weeds are my art...

My November Blessing

There is something about November that takes me back to childhood.  To the gray skies as I walked to school with a cold wind and raindrops falling sideways, getting under my umbrella.  I think of it feeling gray outside and a bit lonely, and that the bright yellow lights of my classroom seemed welcoming and cozy as I hurried past the crossing guard.

We'd hang our slickers in our pine cubbies and warm our hands over the furnace vent and try to dry off with the rough brown paper towels.  We'd go to our desks and get out our pencils and our already grubby erasers and get ready for reading group (I was in the cardinals). 

The world was a big gray comforter surrounding my school, my teacher knew everything there was to know about everything, I was with  friends. Who knew what exciting thing might happen today in music class?  And it would feel like all was right with the world. 

I'd be wearing my tights and my wool plaid skirt and my cotton button up top, and I'd be reading a story about a little Sioux Indian girl (we didn't call them native Americans yet) and I'd just be frustrated as heck that that word was pronounced 'sue'.  It made no sense!

I'd  smell paste, taste our mid-morning milk break from the waxy cartons (so fancy, my family only got milk in old glass bottles), see the faded construction paper scraps, and  happily listen to my teacher talk about cumulus clouds.  When I walked home at lunch-time my mother was sure to have Campbell's chicken noodle soup with grilled cheese and if I was really lucky, hot cocoa as it finally felt wintry enough outside to make some. 

By about 2:30 I'd had enough, and watched the clock-hands refuse to move just like every other kid, for that last 60 minutes of each day.  As I stomped through every puddle on the way home, the sky would seem brighter, and the rain had stopped, but it still felt later than it should feel.  I'd be anxious to get home, not stopping to look for frogs in the creek or any of the other distractions I might find in August or April.

In November, it was important to get home, turn on the tv, and start laughing at Gilligan.  Smell supper cooking (probably pork chops and applesauce), try to avoid any kind of chores, and when Sherry came to the door to ask me to come out to play, I might say 'Not today.'  November made me want to stay inside, and stay close to my humans.

Today as I drive home on a gorgeous sunlit day, with the November sunshine shedding light in a particularly warming way, highlighting every last leaf, it made me appreciate every single leaf still hanging onto those tree branches.  It made me want to pray for each individual leaf.  Yet it made me homesick for those second-grade Novembers.    And it reminds me that each month, even blustery November has its blessings. My November blessing is remembering.

Not saying it all

     I have trouble not saying it all, all at the same time.  I want to share every opinion and every feeling and every thought.  So I've been frustrated that I've been too busy to share the rest of my testimony about my days of solitude in Otterbein.  About what else I learned and did and felt.  But instead life has intervened with back to school, business trips, and minutiae. My memory is fading.  However, that is ok.  I have lots of notes.  Maybe part of it will end up in a short story, or a letter or a chapter of a novel.  It doesn't have to all go here, and I'm not sure any writer ever feels they have truly expressed what they are trying to express.  But, I want to share a few more of the 100+ photos I took, partly to share with you, and partly so I can look back at them this winter when I'm feeling the need for some light on a dark day.

Hard at Work

Flora

Color of Brush



View from Hammock

 

God is in the details

Every spot has history

Nostalgia

Light

Waiting to be noticed

The first morning.

“I just sat for half an hour listening to the birds speak to one another, staring at trees and a meadow.”

“How long has it been since you did that?”

“Uh, never. “

Oh I’ve known calm observations of nature.  I have a few memories of them.  But they usually last sixty seconds.  I will say I had a hard time not opening my laptop or my book as the minutes ticked by -- at first.  I resisted just merging with the sounds and view. But it is early enough in the morning that the sun is still glinting off the dew, the temperature is that perfect feeling of the lightest sheet against your skin.  This porch has many options for me to sit and ponder my life from: a swing, a rocker, a picnic table, lawn chairs.  Right now I’m writing from the picnic table…

 

The dew is one of my favorite things about nature.  An example of perfection.  All those tiny droplets, glinting on each blade of grass like diamonds.  I love the dew.  I wonder on a cloudy day if the dew is still there and no one notices it.  I wonder how many days I walk right past it, not noticing.  But today it is outdoing itself putting on a show for me.  Taking a picture of the dew is never a satisfying exercise for me (reminder, writing blog not photography blog).  It is like photographing the moon.  No photos I take resemble reality.  But I’m going to stop here and try a few shots.

"I don't see it"

 

"Wait, I think I see it"

 

"Yes."

 

I have a whole post about sun on snow.  Sun on dew deserves to be a strong first cousin.  Crystals.  Harder to see, you have to look really close to see diamonds and not just crab grass and mown down dandelions.  But it is there, waiting.  Unseen 99 time s out of a hundred, or 999 times out of a thousand, but still there, waiting to be noticed.  Nature is beauty waiting to be noticed. 

 

June Haiku

June went by too fast.
Rain Sun Rain Rain Rain Rain Sun
Breathe in. Breath out. Gone.

Oh How I Love Winter

I don't think of myself as an outdoorsy person.  I'm not against it, it just isn't part of my profile. But I realize that many times when I'm moved enough to write it has something to do with the natural world.  Nature speaks to me.  So let me confess here:  I'm a winter lover.   It is my second favorite season after fall, then spring, then summer comes in dead last for me.  But truly I appreciate all four seasons and wouldn't want to live without any of them.

So it is cold.  But it isn't hot!  And it is dark.   But that gives me more time to read my beloved books, write, and stay home with my family instead of gallivanting until the 9pm sunset.  And it can be snowy, which I know has its downside with car accidents and

So much goodness in one spot

Every year, I say I'm going to simplify.  "The tree is up.  That is enough." I say to myself, to my family. "We don't need all the clutter and fuss." I tell my co-workers. And so far, every year, I give in.  I pull out the plastic Rubbermaid bins we store in the eaves of my daughter's room.  There must be 8 or 10 of them.  I open one, just to look for the nativity set.  That is required, right?  And then one of my daughters peeks in another bin and wants to put up the Dickens' Village.  And then I see the stockings which are obviously not optional, but underneath are the stuffed animals I like to put in the entryway. And then the rolls of glittery ribbon, the sprigs of holly leaves, and the angel collection start calling my name.  "Just one more thing." Until it is all out. Again. Cluttering up our already small spaces, with memories.

But my favorite decoration is the one above. My collection of Christmas books.  They are not all great literature.  They are not even all good (some I just like the covers of). But most of them are like dear friends.  I have to read Miss Read's Christmas collection last, closest to Christmas Eve, so I can picture that mouse keeping her awake.  Some of them can be read in an hour or so, which at this time of year is a blessing.  To sit in my recliner, with the tree twinkling nearby, my dog Molly at my left, a glass of wine at my right and one of the Christmas stories I love to re-read in my lap is about as festive as it gets for Toni Lisa House Evans.

If I'm having a bad day, I read Maeve Binchy's short story collection that focuses on the stresses and strains of holiday time.  If I feel like laughing it is Dave Barry's or Charlene Baumbich.  There is a book for every mood. And every year, I pull them out and enjoy looking at them, reading them, and then putting them away again.  A Christmas treat for me.  Is there anything better than books? 

Dog Days of Summer

August is one of my least favorite times of year, also known in my journaling as "Limbo-land". Limboland to a controlling type such as myself provides me with a single-minded goal: to escape, and return to 'Pretending to have control' land.

Even when I was seven or eight years old, I didn't like August. The wading pool was limp, and the water tepid. The toads and tadpoles and lightening bugs had lost their zing weeks earlier. We'd played tag and ridden bikes one too many times, and everyone was blah-ed out. I'd ring on doorbells and instead of "Mom, can I play with Toni?" I'd get glazed eyes, a lifted lip, and "It's kinda hot out, isn't it?" The hours ticked by as slowly as the brownish grass grew. The days were survived with games of tic tac toe in a cool-ish garage or resorting to the basement to watch my mother iron shirts.

As an adult, and a mother, August has that same flavor, of Sunday evenings, of a large, slightly unpleasant task looming ahead. The back-to-school weeks. Now, I love school supplies as much as the next person, but when forced to spend half my grocery money for the week on highly priced dry erase markers or calculators or sports fees, I'm grouchy. Other than school supplies shopping, our one bright spot, we are soaked with anxiety. We are waiting to hear which teacher child #3 got, and who is in her class. We are wondering if we can find our way around the new school, as we get promoted. We wonder if we'll find our scheduled classes and hate our teacher. Limbo, wondering, waiting. So much of the next nine months depends on how smoothly things go over the next couple of weeks.

You might wonder what this has to do with becoming a published author? Let me clue you in: nothing. I've got the dog days bad. Instead of writing, I'm in limboland, waiting to see if everyone survives the next three weeks. Instead of querying, I am cleaning bedrooms and trying to find last year's protractor. Instead of revising, I am dreaming, of September. That luscious month when my regular writing schedule returns, along with the slam of those school doors, with my precious but chaotic offspring on the other side. In my daydreams, I'm driving away from the school, back home, to my writing nook, to meet an old friend--Toni the writer.

Grins--
Toni

Vacation, Vacation, da da da da da, de de de de de....

Isn't vacation wonderful? I think at age 42 I've finally figured out it doesn't matter where you go or what you do. The key is to get away from the routine, hum drum, every day work, chores and appointments life, to the life of possibilities that vacation brings.

We have vacationed over the years in places such as Disney World, the mountains of Tennessee, the beaches of Fort Morgan, AL. Last week we went to a family camp in Gull Lake, Michigan. In every case, the beauty of vacation, is being whipped out of everydayness with a vegeance, to an entirely different existence. It refreshes, it stimulates, it challenges us, it throws us together. And in the end, it makes us yearn for our own shower-head and familiar sheets and a little bit of everydayness back in our lives.

For anyone who is interested in a family church camp, this one was stellar. I had certain expectations going in and almost all of them were surpassed by a large margin. The only thing that wasn't as nice as I'd pictured beforehand, was the condition of the cottage we stayed in. It was clean, but old, worn, and a little barren. But we were hardly ever there, and the rest of the week was amazing. My four children have come away from it begging to go back next year, the location was beautiful, the weather was perfection (high of 83, low of 65!), lovely buildings, inspiring speakers, and so much plain old fun, you can't list it all here. But the highlight of the weekend was the staff, about 40 college kids and 5 or so a bit older. They were ENERGY personified. They were smiling, enthusiastic, ready to help at every turn in the road. They changed a typical vacation into a genuinely special memory.

Here is the link for the ministry website: www.gulllake.org and click on 'summer family camp'.

Now I'm back to reality, but the songs and the scenery are still echoing through my head this weekend. I think reality is a bit changed.

Blessings,
Toni

Starting Again

I started this novel-writing process with the idea that the first book that comes out of my fingertips might just be OK. It might not be so good it deserves to be published. Even so, I have followed the submission process to agents, and will continue. I think it is good experience, and I do learn something, if only to have a thicker skin.

I still like my first book, but what I really like is writing. Just writing. So I have a seriously ambitious schedule for myself to finish two more novels in the next 15 months. I'm already behind schedule because I took May off. But on June 1st I at least wrote a paragraph. I uncovered all my binders and organized my desk so I could write again. And book two is now officially begun. It feels wonderful.

Life continues to intervene though. I have jury duty this week and a family vacation next week. But somehow I will write a small amount each day, no matter how small, no matter how inspired (or uninspired). The disciplined approach is what got my first book completed. I was very happy while writing my book, and I'm looking forward to returning to Lake Newberry, my fictional town, and my characters as they grow in the second book.

Summer is officially begun--all four kids home. My submissions to date are 40 query letters, 4 requests for partials, 2 still out there :-)

Blessings,
Toni

Time off for good behavior?

Remember your college Econ classes where every session you are studying overheads of a bell curve of some kind? I should--I was an Economics major in college. Well, my writing life resembles one of those curves, only it isn't one big hump, it is a long series of lows and highs with very little time spent on any kind of even keel.

I wouldn't say I'm at a low, creativity-wise, but time-wise. I have a year-long work schedule for my writing, and after 17 years as a parent, I was wise enough to give myself the month of December completely off. It makes it hard to pick things back up in January, but it is a practical reality for the next ten years or so. Well, I wasn't wise enough to give myself May off, but it has been a month with no writing included anyway. I find it ironic that I was so deeply entrenched in my writing vocation in April, that I felt compelled to initiate this blog, and within weeks I'm so far from that deep perspective, I barely remember the title of my latest work.

May is filled with obligations, endings, beginnings, holidays, school activities, you name it. I have five things on most nights, and I decide that afternoon which items to cross off (as even I can't be five places at once). I also took on remodeling and spring-cleaning to prepare for a family gathering, helping with field trips and class parties, and was required by my day job to attend eight days of professional development classes, outside of my usual work hours.

To make this very short story long, I haven't been writing. I have been visiting my favorite bulletin board, writers.net. I have been raking in the rejections from a very ambitious mailing I did a few weeks ago. I have someone reading my first novel from beginning to end, the first person to do so. But I have taken time off from writing. While it goes against my long term plans, I think it is safe to say that I better work most Mays out to fit this model, as while May includes Mother's Day, it is more of a iron-woman challenge than a holiday for most mothers.

It is also the most beautiful weather, and lots of fun mixed in with all the obligations. I'm a spring/fall lover myself. I do not crave the sun, I crave 60s and 70s with a mild breeze. So May leaves me feeling mellow and relaxed when I get to spend time out of doors. And hopefully prepared to make June a highly productive month for this writer!

Blessings,
Toni

Writer Interrupted...

Ever plan an event at your own home and suddenly every remodeling project you ever thought needed to be done seems to need to be done this week? That is where I've been.

Having an 8th grade graduation/confirmation shin-dig for dd1 next weekend, and suddenly we are painting walls, picking out flooring for the entryway, building a bookshelf, and more. It doesn't hurt that we are getting a nice big tax refund for the first time ever. How does a bookshelf fit into party plans, you might ask? Well, that is going in my writing nook, but before we put it up there and fill it, we of course (why?) want to repaint the walls--dark reddish brown as it happens, so three coats are needed. Then we can move all the books from the china hutch upstairs, and the china hutch can become home to dishes for the first time ever. Perhaps you have to be sitting here next to me to understand how that makes the grad party go better...hmm....

Anyway, my writing nook contents (desk, printer, laptop, etc.) are now spread all over the upstairs hallway, and unavailable to me, so writing has been on hold, but the querying continues.

Status check:For my first novel, LIFE SUPPORT, I have received 4 requests for the manuscript from agents, and 37 declines (my nice word for rejections) to date. Not a good track record. I'm going to rework the query before I send out the next batch.

I also have a bad cold, but I am going to my writer's group anyway. I'm too sick to cook dinner of course...
Blessings,
Toni