I’ve been quiet down this channel. After the ten day intensive internship for wine harvest 2017 down in Marina, CA I needed a break. It’s been back to back projects since getting off the mountain in northern New Mexico, across five cities and four states in two and a half months. Which…yall know I ate Right up lol, gleefully living for the #enjoytheride-isms of it all. But the gift that arose for next was so stunningly sweet that it gave me pause…and that pause led me to deciding to let my gypsy self breathe for a bit.
After what I can only call a splendid #bucketlist train ride up the western coast on the Coast Starlight I’m currently in northern Washington, intent on coalescing the notes I’ve amassed through all of this for various writing projects into prose, no pressure besides the papers must be returned to source prior to my packing up.
And it’s weird.
Certain things help me write. Like Salmon, and libraries just far enough away that I can just get out of my head when walking to them to decompress from work on my own amongst the output of others. And classical in the background before it migrates to whatever music the bookkids are spooling words out to. I was studying Beethoven up in Seco all spring, but the origin sound is always Mozart, one of my innerchild’s first exhusbands. Plus floods of natural light and art supplies. & a kitchen- all things conducive to the hummingbird dance that writing becomes for me at its best. Words make me move on many levels.
Others I’ve always imagined as being conducive when I have the”Big Visions” of writing lol. Like soft, plush Persian rugs under my writing table so I can Be there indulgently barefoot. And an oldschool record player. Decadent, almost avant garde-ish gelato concepts in freezer, Kelly Wearstler-esque chandelier flourishes overhead when I do look up, etc.
I’ve never spoken on any of this.
-okay, yeah the Kelly Wearstler aspect and the gelato because yall know both are dear to my heart lol-
To walk into This blessing and find a vintage-looking record player in the corner with only one album on it, and for that album to be Mozart …shook me.
To see the Persian rug rolled up in the natural light flooded dining room next to the dining nook table positioned under an eclectic, Wearstler-esque chandelier…stilled me.
But to find the treasure chest of salmon? It was like I got slapped in the face with joy lol.
I’ve been quietly on my face with gratitude everyday for every single aspect of this. I even took a “vacation-” which really was just me getting acclimated to here, flitting around finding my bearings, handling personal things so they’d just be out of the way. But even on those days some #writerhead lead-in work casually went down.
Each writer’s ideal retreat IS diff- except, when it comes to the topic of the smell of bacon wedging a writer out of bed to go eat, I mean write. Even turkey bacon and faconbacøn seems to have the same effect, whether you have to make it or can smell it in your mind prior to doing so.
I water a garden.
Not sorting botritus out of pinot gris, not hanging a show, not leading a gang of wild artheads or helping dancers slam through stages in flight- all things I LOVED, and am grateful for too,btw.
But I. ..water a garden.
And draw. So as to write.
Humbly blessed, intent on letting the Work and Will… be done.
In a place near Canada that has me meditative on the subject of good ground and being blessings in the lives of others that they can’t even foresee until it’s already manifested.
I would’ve never asked this of anyone…that God moved you to offer it many moons ago out of nowhere stunned me. Still does. But it turns out to be just what was needed, even then. I just had no idea lol.
You know who you are. And you are so loved. Thank you again. Praise God for butterflies.