Eva Gale

So now that I’ve got this pantry and huge stone cellar, I’m canning and freezing. Peaches are abundant and inexpensive and the zucchini is being zucchini, which means there are 10 zucchini bread loaves in the deep freeze and probably will be many more before the summer is through. 5 peach pies, the blueberry pies are getting done today and I need to get more peaches. The closest farm stand to me also happens to have the best prices, and the corn has been sugar sweet. So next week is blanching and freezing corn and making pickles. I made the girls nightgowns out of men’s dress shirts I bought at the thrift store. They were white and soft and now they remind me of JSS’s Carnation Lilly, Lilly, Rose which is the picture I posted. We even have the lanterns. I bought them from an import store and we painted them with watercolors. (You can’t have a Victorian without lanterns for summer nights)

Writing is in there. I’m collaging. I know, I know, it’s not writing *actually* but I’m hammering out story in my head. In the meantime, I’m living, which is something I haven’t done for three years. The well is filling up, and I’ve really seen how as a writer, you have to LIVE. You can’t sit there and play online and write and have anything to write about. There has to be another side. One where you interact with the world around you in a physical sense and it seeps into your pores, reminding you of scents, and tastes, of laughter and whispers. Meeting the new neighbors and in alongside comments hearing the politics of the neighborhood. I really  think I’ve missed something by just treading water, and living online in this state of suspended animation, and now I’m like a dry wrinkled sponge being thrown in a deep pool of water.

The new ideas? The new writing that’s gurgling up? This is gonna be fun.

To writers: Protect the Writing.

Moving is hard work. Much, much harder than I thought. Even though I planned and had a strategy, the physical aspect of it took me unawares. I’ve lost a lot of weight, that’s for sure (which is so not a bad thing). Today is the first day I’m not hauling boxes or breaking them down, and I had hired movers. The main rooms are unpacked and ready, some painting has to be done and the school room has not even *begun* to be unpacked, but everything else is functioning…mostly.

What has really blown me away was how much it all affected my desire to write or be creative. Up until the past two days I thought I might never write again. I mean, I had no desire like a person who doesn’t read has no desire. I didn’t even want to LOOK at a book. All of that thinkingtinkeringwonderingdreaming that goes on in a writers head when they’re NOT at the keyboard had gone far, far away. That place where creativity sits was lost. I couldn’t even bring myself to crochet. But slowly, as my physical surroundings start to settle down, as everything finds its place, I’m getting glimpses of ideas.

What I’ve learned is that it’s ok to be like this. I am a person that needs her surroundings to be calm in order to be creative and for the longest time I thought there was something wrong with me that I couldn’t write through hell or high water. I wasn’t a *real* writer because I couldn’t power through. Perhaps when I have 15 single titles under me I’ll be able to. I’ll have some sort of process that I trust, that I can rely on. But for right now, calm order is a part of that process, and, thankfully, calm order is a part of my life. Especially now that I’ll (probably) never move again (Yes, I love this place that much). I’m seeing an end to the chaos, and that is the ticket, I think. I can’t yet–I’m far too tired, but I know that soon, perhaps a few days, I’ll be able to sit and start knocking at the keyboard again.

Yup, that about sums it up. Sans the ciggies although when I get particularly acidic I like to remind myself I’m old enough to go buy myself a pack. I’ll stick to the booze. At least I know I’ll be funny, then. I am making up my OWN swear words that blow the good ones out of the water.

You’d be the same way if you thought there was a possibility of having to move 7 kids, two dogs, two cats, and one parrot into YOUR MOTHER’S HOUSE. Last time I was there (8 years ago in between moves) I broke every appliance in the whole damned house. I don’t know if my Dad had fixed them all with spit and gum or what, but everything died. My mom loved it and mauled me in kisses and hugs as the delivery men took the old ones out, but my dad, I think he wanted to ban me from touching anything electrical. Well, this time we’ve got four more kids and this isn’t pretty. MOM is delighted, and well, I’m trying not to want to kill her.

Now, I have to say, it’s not a definite thing that I’m going there, but it’s plan B.

I have one word of wisdom. One, precious pearl to bestow upon you. NEVER EVER accept an offer for purchase with a person who has 100% financing with a VA loan. Walk away. Even if you are crying big fat ugly tears, believe me. Walk away. That person with the least amount of skin in the game has the most leverage. They will make you jump through hoops you didn’t even think existed because you will be the rope in the tug o war game.

We have a house. For real. It’s been a rough ride lemme tell ya. WE had one, didn’t, had , didn’t, had, didn’t. HAD. It’s sticking this time. Unconventional to say the least, too. Our lawyers pretty much hated each other and I ended up saving the deal. ME. Little ole MOI. I was in mamma bear mode, my kids needed a house to live in, Dadgumit. So I called the owner and ironed out the creases. In NJ that stuff ain’t right and pissed my attny off, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Especially when she’s had ENOUGH of testosterone. You know how that is.

For the record, this is the third house we put an offer on since January. And this third deal’s been dead so many times the only thing keeping it alive was the sheer force of my will and the hand of God.

24 days till we move.

And now, the most magical part? I feel like writing again. The story I had been working on when my life hit the fan is nipping at the back of my brain again. Under the circumstances of the past three months I couldn’t write at all. I wish I was that type of person who could, but I just flipped out and the stress swallowed everything. Now that things are more settled it’s coming back. I should post the flipped out e-mails I sent Selah about how I thought I was never going to write again.

So, the moral of this story is that it comes back. It does. Once the whirlpool sucking you down to Davey Jones’ Locker eases up, and the ocean waters begin to smooth, the creative well fills and can’t help but spill over.

I am a bit crazy right now, about to move, no house to move into. I wish I could look as good as the chick in the pict. She does have it all together, and some serious Glam, too. Not me. I’m flailing about, screeching a bit and getting my ponytails caught in the ropes. If I had ponytails. Hanging by one hooked foot and bellowing.

I don’t do graceful when I’m panicked.

But HEY! Would you check out these new digs? My cousin did them for me! She has an awesome web design business, and I drove her batshit crazy for a few weeks making this, but innit beootiful? *preens* I haz love for it. Drop me a line and I’ll hook you up.

OK, that’s enough sanity, back to wailing and flailing.

With people.

In the center of the town with thousands of people.

Someone hold me?

Most of my life (apart from a very few years as a child) I have lived on acreage. I owned a buffer
between me and the masses-not for me, but for them. I’m not the best neighbor. I have a hard
time dealing with the reality of people, it drains me something fierce. For the first
two years of this selling our house journey I have been looking for farms.
A minimum of 3 acres and I could make due with one if it were mostly wooded but it wasn’t my preference.

And then, all of the houses I liked started being sold. All of my choices were taken away (I have parameters
I have to work within, here) and I had to start changing my paradigm.
It was hard, and I’m not quite arrived yet, but I’m envisioning it.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE the house. The street is famous in the town (and surrounding area)
for the historic houses.

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