More tea, Vicar?

I’m making an early resolution. Next year, 2009, I’m going to take a trip to a foreign country. It will be later in the year, probably September because 9 is a favored number for the person I hope is my traveling companion. We might go to Paris since direct flights are available from some city in Ohio, (note to self: do a bit of research before heading to airport). We might go to Scotland because we both freaking love Scotland and long to be referred to as a “lass.” Or we might go to England because, well, because we want to hear someone say, “that’s me sorted,” or to announce when we’ve done something silly that we “feel a right old herbert.” Or we might go somewhere else.

Anyway, this is resolution #1.

Thanks giving

Besides the people and things for which I hope I show I am thankful more than just one day a year, I have a particular list of favorites for which to give thanks. (Starting the list with run-on and/or awkward sentences).

Oatmeal cookies made with brown sugar
Southern Exposure’s staff and classes
Mayan Dark Chocolate coffee by International Foods coffee
Bailey’s
Bailey’s Caramel
Bailey’s Coffee
Tiaras
Snow
Flowers
No workmen in the house
Naps
Sleeping kittens
Hot showers and scented body wash
Christmas tree lights
Leftovers
Warm socs
Books, books, books, books
Music
Old movies

Creative spaces

I think of myself as a creative person though my pace seems woefully slow. I am lucky in that I have a wonderfully large room where I can putter and try out this or that combination and set things aside and still have some room to work on my current project. Anyone can come here. I have a space dedicated to creating, but this is not where I create.

There are other places, dearer places, places where I freely wander and every one of them is inaccessible to anyone other than myself. I have a place that looks like an Old English shop, Dickensian in fact, with large glass cases, a bit dusty, housing my creations. The paint is dark green, but very old and faded. The coffee is always on and there are cookies on a china plate. There is a lettered sign over the door, Nicholas & Marley, and a tinkling bell that rings when I push open the door to come inside and be inspired. When I’m in here, I might physically be sitting in my large room at home, but I’m really far away in both space and time.

There is another place I go and, I must admit, it can be quite a long hike to get there. It’s a library, my own library, a story and a half high with recessed pine paneling and built-in bookcases all around, a desk near a large fireplace with a fire that is always burning, a comfortable chair and ottoman in gray velvet and a couple of quilts in case I feel the need to nap. There are floor to ceiling windows with heavy fringed drapes that always frame a night scene of falling snow. This is the space I use when I write fiction and I find great difficulty staying on the path that wanders and loops through every other place in my mind before I can get here. I’m too easily side-tracked.

I need to practice getting to my library and my shop more often, finding a shortcut, perhaps. My creative spaces somehow comfort me, though I don’t believe comfort is the right word. Insulate is more like it. They act as a buffer that allows me to create complete crap knowing no one else will see it and judge all of my meager talent by it. The freedom to create crap that can be tweaked and trimmed and highlighted and possibly turned into something I’m not horrified to bring out into the light. The freedom to fail, fail, fail, fail and still try again.

I have the best creative spaces. Someday, I post a blog about the gardens around them.

Fools rush in

Em has a great post up about her experience with Writing Day, a day she’d set aside Just For Writing. From what I can glean, she managed 35 minutes of writing in addition to the time it took her to do the blog post about her Writing Day experience. It also appears she managed some healthy fiber for breakfast as well as lunch out with her father who is, I agree, effin’ cool. She also washed her hair.

Just let me say, well, you’re thirty-five minutes ahead of me on the writing, you had a healthy breakfast, had lunch out AND you have clean hair. You’re way ahead of my curve.

You are my hero.

Today Istanbul, tomorrow Constantinople

I love the Brits. I say this so often that I may have crossed the annoyance line with my husband over it, but I can’t help it. I love the Brits. Where else but on a British program would you have a character say, "I may be gone some time. Carry on as though I weren't here."

An article on the British newspaper, the Telegraph’s, online site reported Britain’s first October snowfall in 74 years a few weeks ago and went on to recall newsworthy snows of the past, most notably, and this is a direct quote “In 1881, the Great Victorian Blizzard brought five-metre drifts to London, while in 1836, journalists were able to use for the first – and last – time the unlikely newspaper headline: "AVALANCHE KILLS EIGHT IN SUSSEX".”

Ah, bless ‘em.

The Telegraph’s website has become my news source of choice. I liked the way they reported the American Presidential election. I like the full articles speculating on who will replace David Tennant as the next Doctor Who. I like occasional use of the word “arcane” in their articles. But, most especially, I like their obituaries.

Here in the Colonies, our obits tend to be a boring list of data from birth to death, including the number and list of siblings as well as off-spring and off-spring of off-spring. Graduated from here or there, served in such and such, etc. We’re so focused on accomplishments that we celebrate a life by listing them. The list of what one did doesn’t tell me much if anything about the person the world just lost, but read the obituary of Johnny Hesketh at www.telegraph.co.uk/news/obituaries/3393349/Johnny-Hesketh.html and I dare you not to feel that the world was lucky to have enjoyed the company of this person. Almost every obituary is like this one, filled with anecdotes and some sense of the personality. I have Johnny to thank for the title of this post.

And don’t even get me started on how much better and flat out interesting the writing is in the Telegraph.

Ah, bless ‘em.