The Daily Tree

My friend Theresa and I started a blog that features a different tree each day.  All of the photographs were taken  by us.  I personally have over 500 photos taken in the last three years. I'm not likely to run out any time as I'm always snapping away at trees. I love them.

I love their resilience, their strength, their vulnerability, their multi-tasking, their home-building, their scent, their food, their complete and total existence.  I LOVE them.

Theresa is the one who wanted to marry one she met in Scotland.

Neither that story nor photo have appeared on the blog yet but go over and check out the lovely trees we've shared so far.  You might recognize some.

The Daily Tree

Music heals

As there is no such thing as a stress-free diet, I recommend you take two Motown Icons and call me in the morning.

Not only were my friends and I able to hop on stage with Mary Wilson at her concert in Detroit the other day, we toured Hitsville the following day with Martha Reeves. For a few hours I was able to forget all of my troubles, worries and cares. Do not underestimate the influence their music had on the turbulent 60's. It's easy to dismiss the happy lyrics and bubbling beat as frivolous. I know losing myself in that music, and the experience of rubbing elbows with those two incredible women, put my troubles on the back burner for a few hours. When I had to pick them back up, I had a new optimism, some compassion and a better perspective.

Motown isn't to everyone's taste but I think music appeals to everyone in varying degrees. Even deaf people feel the rhythm. (Marlee Matlin on Dancing with the Stars) What's your musical preference when you need a break from the stress?

Many years ago, there was a quiz making the rounds about what kind of flower you are. I posted mine here, in part because it was a great way to connect with my characters. And yes, I liked the attention.

Due to circumstance beyond my current control, I am in a situation with people that are completely unlike me. (See the flower mentioned above for more explanation if necessary) I am a weed in their garden of flowers. When I said that to a friend, he reminded me that weeds are survivors. They grow in the most horrendous conditions, with inconsistent quantities of food, water and sun.

I am a thistle. I'm prickly, purple and thrive regardless of circumstance. I can wilt in great heat but a few drops of water or some shade will revive me. I grow tall and strong and proud. Oddly, I never saw a single thistle either time I visited Scotland.

Because the current project is so plant-based, I am immersed in plant-lore and surrounded by leafy greens, bright splashes of colour, weeds, flowers, flora and fauna of all kinds. It helps that so many of my friends have green thumbs.

If you were a plant, what would you be?

This is growing by my pond

Random thoughts

If you're a plant-based life-form who eats vegetables, are you a cannibal?

Mulberry trees are condominiums. They support several different species of birds, silkworms, squirrels and raccoons. They protect the house, gobble up carbon and excrete oxygen. You can make jam from their berries. Not that I ever have. I don't get to the berries as fast as the afore-mentioned creatures.

Worry is like a rocking chair - lots of movement, no real activity. Yet we all line our porches with those bits of furniture and talk about spending our retirement in them.

Why are some poorly constructed/plotted/written books HUGELY popular? (not all hugely popular books are badly constructed/plotted/written)

On a related note, education can be entertaining and vice versa. I'm thinking of you, Museum Secrets.

There is simply not enough time in the day to work on all of the projects that are crowded into my brain and work to keep a roof over our heads. Yet somehow, I spend a ridiculous amount of time each day staring at an Osprey chick on the other side of the world.

What's your favourite form of procrastination relaxation?

I'm not sure about my heroine's personality yet. That makes it difficult to write from her pov, or even her reactions to the hero's actions. I thought I knew her but she's more formal than I expected. And odd. She's odd, quirky odd but odd nevertheless. I blame Big Bang Theory. I watched all three seasons in two weeks and it might have coloured my thoughts about scientists. Where do I get off writing about a scientist? I failed math and science all the way through school. They fascinate me* but I do not understand them. She's very odd. I can't follow her thought processes. Yikes. I might just spend the afternoon writing down her day and stuff so I can get a handle on her.

I do know the music she likes, and what weather makes her most happy. I know what she likes about places and people. I know what motivates her. I know who she loves.

Ah, but she's in the middle of a major identity crisis. No wonder I can't get a handle on her. Any suggestions for how to write from her perspective?

Here's another tree photo. The hero hails from close by

A few observations

This week I learned that if I make plans to write at a particular time for a specific length, then tell people, I will do it.

Peer pressure works on me.

I also learned:

I may never be done research. One thing leads to another then another and somehow everything I've written up to this point dovetails nicely with what I've just learned yet somehow I still need more information so that my characters don't sound like idiots. Although I wonder what the scientific community knows that I don't (plenty!) that they're not making the same connections I am and curing cancer.

Walking the terrain gives me a few shortcuts. I don't have to puzzle out logistics. My characters don't drive 300 miles out of their way to go for dinner. Or to work.

I do not have a large enough vocabulary to describe that awkward first meeting between two characters who will change each other's lives. The descent into cliches is swift and deep.

Some days the words flow. Other days they must be chiseled out of stone with a toothpick.

Taking those observations into consideration, what cliched scene have you read that really worked for you regardless of flaws?

Father`s Day

My dad was posted to Egypt a month after his wedding. The man faced a lot of adjustment when he returned a year later. I was three months old.

A few weeks ago, I found some postcards and letters he wrote to his parents from Egypt. Coincidentally, my aunt came across another one Dad wrote to his brother around the same time. She sent me a copy this week.

Reading them, I`m struck not only by how young he was, 21, but also how much his tone changed. He`s always been a serious man, with moments of great silliness. The letters were much lighter than I expected given his situation. I bought a hassock the other day. Ìf I can`t figure out a way to get rid of the smell, I`m chucking it over the fence.

It was amusing to read about his thoughts on my embryonic self. Mom was convinced I was a boy. He didn`t care as long as I was healthy. His great-grandfather was unwell(in his late 90`s)and Dad hoped he`d that we`d get to meet. We did.

Reading how much he loved the country, the people, I`m reminded of the stories I grew up hearing - sandstorms, camels, and coffee that tasted like seaweed. There was one brief allusion to the Middle East in the 60`s - Everyone changes over here...I think sometimes that we all leave here a little bit crazy.

But he was anxious to come home and be a family with Mom and I.
I`m really happy about the baby. I received a signal Thursday morning at 7:30 am and a telegram at 11 o`clock. We had quite a celebration in the club. It started at 7:30 in the morning and lasted until midnight.There were an awful lot of people who didn`t go to work...I want to know all about our daughter. I`ll be home in fifty-one days. Hurrah!

Dad was stationed at home when my brother was born. As a big sister, I remember all of the excitement. Dad never cared about our gender, health was his concern.

We tested him plenty over the years in that area and many others. We butted heads about politics and house rules, yet he supported us in all of our choices, even when those same choices baffled him.

It`s easy to forget our parents were young, had dreams and expectations of life. Reading my dad`s letters written when he was a young man has provided me with a great deal of insight into his character, a glimpse of the man, as opposed to the dad.

I`m going to transcribe the letters so that my niece and nephew can add a piece to the puzzle that is their grandfather. I wish I`d thought of it sooner to give to Dad for Father`s Day.

The letters confirmed what I already knew. He is quite the interesting man, my dad. I do love him.

True Love

The reason I write romance, and believe heart and soul in true love:



Fifty years, and many challenges later, my parents are still in love with each other

Front door

I'm thinking of starting a blog called The Front Door. It will simply be pictures of people's front doors.

The idea was inspired by this one

What do you think?

Plotting

Life is kicking my ass. That happens sometimes. This will come in handy later when I torture my characters. I'll draw on life experience to add depth and reality to their scenes.

In the meantime, I'm plotting what lies beyond this gate...

Contemplating

Spring is here. The weather is lovely, plants are growing, sprouting, blooming. I'm still contemplating all the information I gathered on my research trip to North Carolina. I have to figure out some backstory as it's essential to the why of the plot. I'm piecing together some information and looking at how certain trees thrive in multiple and diverse climates. Once that's done, I plan to sit down and write until the words dry up. Or for a minimum of two hours every day.

In the meantime, here's Brynja's home in Carrboro, North Carolina.

What does it tell you about her personality?

Research

I was away for two weeks then sick when I came home. My head is awhirl with ideas,not only for the book I went to research but also a few that reached up and grabbed me.

Two weeks ago, I did this

That was my first time ever kayaking. Odd, considering Alex, my last hero, did that for a living. Post-book research. I'm ahead (or behind) of my time.

Last week, I did this

I drove the route to work that my heroine will ride on her bicycle. There were street signs indicating the best way to do that but sadly, I did not have a bike handy. Still, it was beautiful and I'm so glad I was able fill up an SD card with pictures of Brynja's home, work, restaurants and hang-outs. I found the perfect neighbourhood for her as well as a nice clump of ferns in which Bracken can hide his charges.

Nothing beats the experience of walking the terrain your characters inhabit.

Next year, Iceland!

Writer's vacation

I'm going to be offline for a couple of weeks while I tromp around the Chesapeake Bay area. I'm back to working on Rootless Trees so I'm off to walk the terrain. Iceland, sadly, was out of my budget. I have excellent notes, photographs and memories of Scotland so all that's left is the place where Brynja and Bracken land on their feet. Armed with research notes and plot outline, I'm going to park myself on the beach and writewritewrite.

But first, I plan to explore the area, stay up all night chatting with friends, and immerse myself in a completely different world from the one the characters and I are used to inhabiting.

Anything in particular you want me to take note of?

100 years later

I've always been fascinated by the Titanic. There is something about the tragedy that has held my attention for as long as I can remember. I think it's responsible for my first awareness of our mortality. "1500 Souls Lost" was the headline that struck a chord. All the movies and documentaries, books and articles, hit at the heart of the fascination. Those souls belonged to real people with real families, real dreams and real plans for the lives ahead of them.

All of their stories deserve to be told. All of their stories need to be heard.

1500 souls, 1500 hearts, 1500 lives.

Photographs

Last week, I went to a concert. We had tickets to both the afternoon and evening shows. I spent some time on hair, make-up and dress because I knew we were going to meet the Supreme Mary Wilson between shows. I've been eating better and walking every day. It shows. Not a lot but, my goal of being healthy is definitely noticeable. I felt good about my appearance. Until I looked at the photographs taken between shows. I had no idea that I am so large. Honestly. I'm still agile, fit into older clothes and don't get winded. I was horrified that picture was out there for the world to see.

Then I remembered something someone said to me several years ago. She used to hate having her picture taken for similar reasons. After she lived in Europe for a while she noticed how happy people were to see her, in whatever form they could get. She told me that when people look at photographs, they aren't critiquing your weight, clothes or posture - they see the face of someone they love. The bigger the smile you wear in the photo, crooked teeth and all, the happier it makes the viewer. I started paying attention to how I feel whenever I see anyone's picture and my friend was absolutely correct. I see who they are, not how they look.

So when a video surfaced in which I hopped up on stage for my moment as a Supreme, I overrode my initial reaction of horror and watched it. It was fun. It was clear that we were up there goofing around and having a good time. It didn't matter that I can't dance to save my soul or that I was wearing the only splash of colour up there. Nothing mattered but the memory of how much fun it was to be up there on stage acting out every little fantasy I'd had as a kid. I was a Supreme!

Remember this next time you're reluctant to have your picture taken. You're capturing a moment, an emotion, not a look.

Supreme Joy


Blogger wouldn't let me embed the file but if you click on it you can view it on your own system's video player

Mirror, Mirror

Life can be hard. It can be full of sorrow, anguish and disappointment. The only thing we can truly control is our reaction. I've been struggling to hold on to my natural optimism. Cynicism had planted seeds, taken root and ruthlessly hogged the sun.

The other day, a good friend shared his view of me and my life. To hear his admiration, and respect, reminded me that there's so much more to my life than the stuff that's been dragging me down. I joke about our mutual admiration society but honestly, we are good mirrors for each other. We reflect the enthusiasm, talent and joy the other feels whenever we think of the other.

Everyone should have someone like that in their life - the mirror that sees you as fairest of them all.

Who is your Mirror, Mirror?

More to the story

Passing the church on the way to work the other day, I noticed a pile of used toys and a wooden bookcase on the side of the road. A pickup pulled up to the curb and a crew of older men hopped out. One grabbed the bag of toys; another hefted the book case onto the road to shatter it into pieces. My first thought was, "Why didn't they recycle those things?" How wasteful. A few steps further down the road and I wondered if perhaps the book case was irreparable. The truck bed had stacks of broken wood. There's a place in town that pays for wood scraps. It's possible the church had generated some income. I could be wrong with any or all of my conclusions.

It made me wonder how often the conclusion we jump to is the right one. There are so many snap judgements made each and every minute of the day. I don't know what the real story is about the church belongings but for the rest of the day, I made up opposing stories about random things I observed.

The employee walking out the back door and crossing the street towards a coworker's house. Three blocks later, the severely-clad woman reappeared, turned another corner then headed back towards work. Clearly, she was out enjoying the gorgeous Spring weather, not sneaking out to meet up with someone.

The car parked in a neighbour's usual space despite the fact that everyone knew it was the only place the van could park to safely unload the wheelchair. Three days later and the car was still in the spot. Just as the van owner was about to hunt down the car owner and share a piece of their mind, an impartial third-party mentioned the car had been dropped off by a tow truck. The best anyone could hope for was that the car could be pushed forward into another space.

Minor observations but conclusions had been erroneous because there was more to the story than what was initially observed.

What's the strangest thing you've observed that you wish you new the rest of the story?

Found treasures

My friend and I were out for a drive the other day. Headed in no particular direction we were catching up on sad news more than happy stuff. We weren't particularly distressed but both of us mentioned we were drained. We took a right turn, then a left turn and another left. The entrance to a protected woods was before us. The strange quacking call of the wood-frog beckoned us forward. We shrugged, entered and parked the car. There were comical wooden soldiers piled by the mini-putt to the left. Several families were enjoying themselves over there. To the right was a pond with little bridges that led to three separate viewing platforms. We locked our belongings in the car and strode forth. Turtles sunned themselves on a log. With our backs to the mini-putt, it appeared that we had dropped down into an enchanted forest. The frogs sang. The turtles sunned. We recharged. We looked at the other two viewing platforms. One was named Serenity (which always makes me think of Firefly, which is fun but not necessarily soothing) I've forgotten the name of the second. The space where we stood said Be Thankful. We were.

Ignoring my flip flops, we opted to walk along the cleared path and breath in the fresh Spring air. Leaves had curled on the branches of the beech tree like little cocoons. A squirrel had commandeered a bird house for an afternoon nap. One particularly vocal wood-frog revealed his hiding place so that we might marvel at the small body that produced such a deep and powerful voice.

By the time we turned back towards the car, our spirits had risen, our souls been replenished and our worries eased. The external had not changed but we both drove away knowing that we were better equipped to handle the challenges we face.

Have you found some special place that fills you up when you most need it?

The skunk at the garden party

It's hard to laugh in the face of overwhelming sorrow. It's considered disrespectful to give into the urge. I can remember laughing at my grandfather's funeral. So many disapproving faces turned my way. I had remembered my grandfather in a way that gave me joy yet my laugh stood out amongst all the sniffling and tears like the rank odor of skunk at a garden party. I am often that skunk.

Most sorrow comes from losing a loved one. The happier the memories, the greater the anguish. It seems to me the disrespect comes from banishing the good memories to focus primarily on the sense of loss.

There are so many stresses in our lives it seems silly to ignore the things that alleviate any of that for even one moment. I do believe in surrounding myself with joy, love, laughter and animals but that's because they work for me. Good friends are invaluable. Great memories a boon.

Laughter banishes negativity. It doesn't get rid of the health concerns, money worries, mounting pressures but it turns things on their side so that you can see past their huge bulk to a solution.

It always comes back to perspective for me. I need the laugh to remind me life can be full of ridiculous situations. Death comes to all of us. So does life. There are creatures in the dark, delightful creatures who remind us not all is bad or scary. Sunshine burns. Flowers heal or poison. We choose which to ingest, and when. There should be laughter at funerals, tears at birth and skunks at garden parties.

Don't you agree?

Contrasts

My thoughts today are like the snow falling gently outside my window. Disjointed and scattered until they hit the ground to form some kind of mass that annoys some people while delighting others.

I've loaded my Sony reader with a couple of new books; Demolition Angel by Robert Crais and Spindle's End by Robin McKinley. They are both new-to-me authors and so far I've devoured Crais. I will definitely read more of his. McKinley came highly recommended by several people whose tastes are similar to mine. I finished A little Night Magic by Lucy March two weeks ago and am still thinking about those characters. That's a good thing.

I googled Liselotte von der phaltz. Many years ago, we saw her portrait in the gallery at Heidelberg Castle. She looked a great deal like my great-grandmother. Mumma was alive at the time and confirmed the possibility that the Prussian princess could be a distant cousin. There was an long dead uncle who'd been a bit of a roué which had led to his being exiled from several countries for impregnating daughters of the nobility. Family legends.

I'm on my third cup of tea. I usually only have one for breakfast and one in the evening. My sleep was beset my violent nightmares. I stare out the window and watch the snowflakes flutter past. They are fluffy and the brilliant white that blots out the red horrors of the night.

I continue to glance at the white infant jacket that lies on the table. Three white pearl buttons lie beside waiting for me to sew them on. A shower gift for a friend, I need to finish and wrap for this evening. Perhaps a bit more snow gazing to ensure my energy is focused on the sweetness of a newborn.

Maybe one more tea. Raspberry white tea, full of anti-oxidants and the sweet burst of summer fruit and a healthy contrast to the cool winter morn.