You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall
Cassia and her brothers and cousins face a crucial decision. Do they continue to jointly hold the family business as a resource for future generations, requiring them to keep working for a living, or do they divvy up their shares and then live independently wherever and however they desire?
Put yourself in Cassia’s shoes.
How would your life be different if you didn’t have to worry about how you’d make ends meet? What would you dream of doing?
~*~
Trying to strike a satisfying balance:
Between my local Meeting and serving the wider world of Friends.
With my writing, finding a wider audience for my existing work.
With the rest of my life – householding, exercise, reading, etc.
It just never seems to come together neatly!
So just what, exactly, holds it all together?
to know a good life is not easy just look at all that’s broken here knowing you miss so much is to concede abundance and blessing as well until the eyes move away from what’s harmonious see, a house wrapped in leaves repeats marriage and even the compost unassumingly transforms to its own succulence while the children expect everything before attaining focus, at last requited by frugal exercise where we may be generous
For 149 years, a New Hampshire vacation tradition has been the big cruise boat that plies scenic Lake Winnipesauke in the mountains in the middle of the state.
Here’s the dope.
In my novel What’s Left, there’s one big subject Cassia couldn’t ignore — not if she truly wanted to understand her father. It’s the whole hippie thing.
As he noted, in a sentence no longer in the text:
Will any of our inner music — our desires and activity — ever come into a reliably ongoing harmony?
As was this tidbit:
This is all new to him. The language, unfamiliar, even after the sporadic trips of his youth. The music, profoundly moving.
Take his hitchhiking. As her aunt Nita explained in yet another deleted text:
As for your body, well, you could go about anywhere on your thumb. Maybe not the Deep South or some of the big cities. But adventure called. Out in the countryside. And in the heart of the metropolis. There were moments when everything turned utterly surreal. It was a wild time, wasn’t it? You’re forgetting Nixon got reelected to the White House? If you were a freak — a hippie — you were part of a stream of kindred souls. You saw the world askew. You wanted to explore and discover new vistas, many of them psychedelic. You knew there was more — much more — than what your parents had ever imagined. The entire world was spiraling, about to go out of control, or so it seemed. And what difference does any veracity of hitchhiking in the subways make? Aren’t those some wild stories? Where does the line fall between what’s real and what’s imaginary? Didn’t your Baba land here after all? Return to build on earlier connections? Who cares how he got here as long as he did? You believe this is where he was destined, don’t you?
Admittedly, it’s a lot to take in. More than we needed, in fact. Even this flash:
Angels as hitchhikers! As subway riders! As candy store clerks!
~*~
These days, I’m left with mixed feelings.
Where do you think the hippie movement missed the boat? And what do you think it got right?
~*~
In my novel Nearly Canaan, Joshua and Jaya settle into a place unlike anything they would have imagined. It’s desert, for one thing, where nearly everything has to be irrigated, for another. Quite simply, it’s a lot like Yakima, in the middle of Washington state.
~*~
What food is special where you live?
Many would consider Cassia’s family wealthy, but a close look would find that their money is tied up, mostly in real estate and the restaurant – investments that allow the family to be its own boss in working together and serving the surrounding community.
Imagine yourself with a million dollars. Where would you put it to do the most good?
My wife brought in a big green caterpillar, fatter than my thumb and longer than a finger, then asked if I knew what it was.
Nope.
Then she informed me it’s a hornworm, our first one she’s found on our tomato plants in the two decades we’ve lived here. And she was terrified. Said they can devour not just whole tomatoes but the plant too, as well as peppers, eggplants, potato plants. Well, it’s a long list and if you find one of the goliaths, there are bound to be more.
That stirred up memories of the three little woodchucks that showed up one July and reduced our six thriving Brussels sprouts plants to sticks. The very thought of something like that recurring still strikes terror.
A gardener has to be watchful.
summer begins by one system, but remains Midsummer by the other wherein May Day, August 2, and Halloween initiate the change of seasons and Christmas then falls in the middle right up to the vernal equinox or well beyond as far as sunlight falling on the Earth is concerned winter’s over on Depression-era linoleum encircled by tuxedos and stovepipe hats
Naturally, you invent some things when you’re writing a novel, and you bend some others to improve the fit.
But some other elements deliberately stretch reality, hopefully with good reason. Besides, that’s why it’s called fiction.
For example:
