Of Flux and Fuss and Frustrations

 

Over 50K in a memoir

Back again after long hiatus.  

Recent events give me hope I might be back on a regular basis.

I just spent the month of April participating in Camp NaNoWriMo and am about to break the 50K goal with my next session and realized I had completely forgotten to write the post announcing my participation or to sign up for ROW80 at the beginning of April.  This was one of those times, rare in the recent past, in which the writing itself took me over and became the reason and the reward.

More about that later but first a recap of the missing months:

Last fall the chaos of the move in July had still not settled down as I’d expected.  Everything in my life and environment was in flux and unpredictable including the caregivers I needed to survive in my own apartment.  I didn’t let that stop me from doing NaNo in November but it did stop me from blogging about it and keeping up with my ROW80 accountability updates.  

Then December was devoted to crocheting for Christmas presents, none of which I finished in time.  Then on Christmas day I started reading and read several books a week thru the end of February.  I kept trying to talk myself into reviewing them but well…

Then in late February my first Housekeeping Inspection was scheduled for mid March and the next two weeks were all about that.  Two days after that I got sick and vegged on my bed/couch with videos for ten days.  Then as soon as I was free of symptoms I got my Covid booster shot and spent another half week lazing with vids and ebooks.  

Sick Station
for the last half of March I vegged here with DVD, streaming video, talking book machine and ebooks which commandeered a third of my writing station.

The day I realized I was sick and not lazy because I could not get up off the beanbag chair without sliding off onto my knees first I had moved my entertainment materials, devices and charging cords in by my bed/couch which cluttered up my writing area with physical and mental distractions.  Now I found myself thinking about writing with fondness again but first I’d have to clear away the clutter.  

I was mildly motivated.  Too much fuss.

And then something happened.

My sister Jamie messaged me out of the blue that she had just signed up for April Camp NaNo—her first NaNo ever—and suggested we be writing buddies if I was planning to participate.

There followed a long back and forth with me congratulating her on her plan and dithering about what I would designate as my project.  Since she was doing a memoir-like piece about living with chronic disease it started to feel natural for me to lean toward a memoir-like theme as well.  After some more fussing on my part and feedback on hers, I settled on returning to the memoir I’d worked on for a previous Camp NaNo two or three years ago:  True Joy.

True Joy then as now is an attempt to explore the issues keeping me from standing in my truth which was the reason why I could never finish my many many WIP.  I hashed this out with Jamie that evening providing her with some of my own insights and taking in some of her input.  Then for the kickoff writing session at midnight on April 1st I wrote this statement of intent:

The intent as I begin this project is for this to remain between me and the page.  I must tell myself that and believe it long enough to reach deep and tell my story—the story that defines my life.  Because there are others in my story who are not displaying their best selves I felt I could not tell the story so I bottled it up.  Secrets kept like that can kill.  

I have spent decades using as a substitute the vast storyworld I created in the late 80s which I call By Their Fruits You Shall Know Them or Fruits of the Spirit or FOS for short.  I’ve got somewhere near 20 WIP set in FOS and for a couple of years at least that playground of ideas has stopped working as the outlet for dealing with the issue that is at the very heart of who I became after November 2, 1994.  

It is partly but only partly because even when I disguise the event in layers of fiction acted out with players that in no way resemble in any physical or psychological level the individual who committed the act that irrevocably changed who I am, that person would recognize the elements of the incident once publication made it accessible.

So I keep writing up to the edge of The Incident and then shying away.

I’m going to start in the first section by relating The Incident in as much fine detail as possible and whenever it helps to do so to use the same techniques as fiction to create the scene.  After I’ve done that, which might take days of intense writing, I will create new sections to unpack the life history relevant to how and why The Incident had the effect on me that it did and the story of how it changed my heart, soul, spirit, faith, and mind and how that changed the path of my life and how it catapulted me out of the cult I was raised in and sent me on a search for a truth I could live with and set me on a spiritual journey towards true Joy.

I can report now that this effort has been a success unlike the previous attempt.  Maybe because I wasn’t alone this time.  With Jamie supporting me and hearing me out whenever I thought I’d had an insight or was just drowning in the chaos of the emotions, I could muddle through.  As someone who knew the players, who had been adopted into our family in spirit as an orphaned teen, attended the cult functions through Junior High and High School without ever buying into it, she had the ability to stand both inside and outside the zeitgeist of it from where she could see where I’d twisted pretzel shapes into my thoughts and suggest better ways of thinking about it.

Also supporting me in the exercise was a cousin who reconnected with me last summer with her own story of escaping the cult.  Our email exchanges contributed to my word count as well as to the untwisting of my thoughts.  With the help of these two soul sisters I was able to begin groping my way toward firm ground in my mind but not until I’d brought my heart and soul into the process.

I can’t go into the details here on how I made my way through the twisty tangles of my mind and what sparked the insights that helped me unsnarl the chaos of thoughts and emotions because I’m still uncomfortable with outing others publicly but I have lost the inhibitions about fictionalizing it.  This applies not only to the Incident of November 94 but to fears of making the cult in my storyworld resemble too closely the one I was raised in.  Though I will no longer go to extremes in trying to disguise it nor will I make special effort at verisimilitude.  It is fictional.  There will be similarities and there will be differences.  The final shape it takes will be dictated by the needs of the story.

Writing Station
Not perfect.  Not even near my ideal but it worked well enough for this project

I accomplished all of that without completing the move of the distractions back to the beanbag alcove.  The day following the evening I committed to Camp NaNo I focused on making the writing area as serviceable as possible for the kickoff leaving the sick station intact as before I could set entertainment back up in there I had to tear it down to bare floor corner to corner on a search for several missing items and it would be so much easier to do that before I set up the charging station in there again.  Just last weekend I completed that search and moved the devices in there but never got the charging station set up so many of the items have found their way back.  Especially the videos and DVD player.

But that is just as well as tomorrow is Dewey’s 24 Hour Read-a-Thon and I can read on the beanbag with ebook or audio book without having the entertainment station set up to perfection.  It might be best if the videos are left right where they are until after the thon.

What this month has taught me is that I'm too fussy about details that don't matter, that I'm too easily frustrated by the unexpected, and that flux is the very definition of life and can be channeled to accommodate the aspirations instead of drowning them in a wallow of woe-is-me.  

Focus is the key and as one on the autism spectrum focus is my superpower when I find the right target for it.  That's called being in the flow and when I'm there all the fuss and muss and frustrations just float away.

Read more...

Book Review: Time and the Tree by Roisin Sorahan -- Including an Interview with the Author and a Giveaway

Time and the Tree by Roisin Sorahan 

Publisher: Adelaide Books, NY (September 6, 2021 

Category: Literary Fiction, Fantasy, Modern Fable, and Self-actualization 

Tour dates: January-February, 2022

ISBN: 978-1955196635 

Available in Print and ebook, 

282 pages

 

Description of Time and the Tree by Roisin Sorahan

A modern fable about the nature of time and the quest for happiness. It's darkly funny, deceptively simple, and a necessary read for testing times. In this gripping philosophical tale, a boy awakens beneath a tree in a forest in summer. He is soon joined by Time and his slave, a withered creature hooked on time and aching to disappear. The story evolves over the course of a year as a host of characters are drawn to the Tree for guidance. The unlikely cast grapple with choices and grope towards self-knowledge in a world where compassion is interwoven with menace. As the seasons bring great changes to the forest, we watch the child grow while the trials he faces mount.  Then the time for talk and innocence passes as the forces of darkness rally, threatening the lives of his friends. Lyrical, honest and heart-breaking, Time and the Tree confronts readers with a unique perspective on the challenges life presents. A wise and hopeful book, it is uplifting and unsettling by turns.

Joy's Review of Time and the Tree by Roisin Sorahan

This charming tale enchanted me.  In its very simplicity it drew me in and held me as willing witness to wonder and wisdom.  Not since the era of my late pre-teens have I been so captivated by a story .  Not since the time of my early teens have I experienced the sense of having been profoundly changed at my core by a story. It was such stories that lit the flame of my love for story and memories of them that keep me on a quest for more such stories with the power to transform me and my world.

Time and the Tree is an allegory that might be mistaken for a children's story but its intended audience is as ageless as a tree that is both ancient and new every season.  The setting is the Forest over a year of changing seasons progressing from summer thru autumn and winter and ending as spring is about to give way again to summer.  On this stage in the opening scene we encounter Boy conversing with Tree his constant companion, teacher and friend.  Their dialogs are gentle lessons in living from the heart with integrity and joy.

In the midst of their communion they are joined by Time and his Shadow.  Time is a potbellied functionary with the hands of a clock attached to his navel, the second hand relentlessly circling passes just under his chin.  His companion, Shadow, waits on him hand and foot carrying the burden of all the accoutrements of an urban lifestyle upon its back for their wilderness trek.  Time is a bully constantly calling Shadow Slave and Fool and berating it for being slow and incompetent and worthless.  Time seems to think he is there to tell Tree what's what and make sure Boy has the true scoop on the meaning of life.  But Boy takes his lesson from Time not via his words but by close observation of his behaviors..

Later the group is joined by Weaver a haggard woman with eight limbs who is constantly knitting with wool and needles while weaving snares of words for her intended recruits for her icy northerner empire. Time and Weaver snipe at one another hinting at a history going back to their youth.  Once again Boy's observation of behavior has more impact on his understanding than Weaver's slippery words.

It isn't until the arrival of Wanderer, a caped traveler and adventurer, that Boy becomes enthralled by a visitor's tale.  He hangs on her every word, hankers after a dagger just like hers and spends time among the trees acting out her tales of daring do

.

Then in the midst of winter long after Weaver had left in a snit and shortly after Time, Shadow and Wanderer had set off on a joint adventure leaving Boy alone with Tree, there arrived a pair of scurrilous Woodcutters, minions of Weaver on an an ominous mission for their icy-hearted mistress...  

Of which I can say no more without providing spoilers.

Tree's conversations with each character maintain the same open-hearted respect and compassion no matter their attitude.  They remind me a bit of Plato's dialogs with a hint of Jesus' parables and sermons seasoning rich servings of Buddha and the Tao.

More of my reaction to this story is revealed below in my interview questions for Roisin Sorahan with her replies providing more insight into the heart of her story...

Praise for Time and the Tree by Roisin Sorahan

Time and the Tree by Roisin Sorahan is truly a masterpiece...A fable full of thought-provoking metaphors, knowledge, and awareness of the bigger picture...I would recommend it for all who relish beautiful literature, especially stories with a deeper meaning."-San Francisco Book Review (5/5 star rating)

Time and the Tree explores matters of spirit, intention, kindness and how to live the time that is offered through a series of revelations that will often prompt readers to set aside the tale to consider their own relationships with time and life. Sorahan's...ability to bring to life some basic tenets of existence and the existential questions many come to feel during the course of a lifetime creates an insightful read on the level of The Velveteen Rabbit classic."  - D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review 

A genre-busting masterpiece, full of pacy storytelling, wry dialogue and philosophical challenge -Declan Kiberd, Author (incl. Inventing Ireland), Professor Emeritus at the University of Notre Dame, and international authority on modern Irish literature

Time and the Tree is unlike anything I've read in contemporary literature ... a beautiful fable fit for difficult and confusing days. -Luke Gerwe - Associate Editor, PBS NewsHour, and formerly Managing Editor, Voice of Witness book series 

"An uplifting and tranquil allegory filled with positivity and hope, Time and the Tree by Roisin Sorahan is a magical tale of a young boy who lives in a forest, a wise and caring tree which offers shelter and guidance and numerous other characters that appear in order to challenge and change under the tree and the boy's influence. This book is filled with lessons: to be mindful and present instead of constantly rushing towards a tomorrow that's just out of reach; the importance of healing past trauma and self-love and acceptance, or showing empathy for others. Hope and positivity flows from the pages of this lyrical story as we navigate the ever-changing seasons in this magical forest. Time and the Tree is well-written, its characters compliment each other, with the naivety and curiosity of the young boy setting up many of the lessons. There is a level of spirituality in this book, it encourages meditation and gratitude while also promoting that it's ok to be you, to embrace your unique qualities and to follow your own path. Told with an emphasis on nature, Time and the Tree is an uplifting read that will infuse any reader's day with positivity. It's imagery and storyline are gentle and easy to follow with its underlying message about looking to the light in all things will leave readers with warm feelings of hope and positivity. I found this book entertaining and witty in places, but ultimately it left me with a sense of peace and calm."  -LoveReading

"This is a lovely story that, on the surface, appears like a simple fairy tale. But it is much more than that. It is full of symbolism and knowledge...this book has a beautiful message that is sure to stay with me. Time and the Tree is a beautiful debut from a talented author."-Manhattan Book Review

Joy's Interview with Roisin Sorahan

Dear Joy,

It means a lot to me that you enjoyed Time and the Tree. Thank you for taking the time to read it. I also appreciate such thoughtful and insightful questions. 

I believe the reader completes the creative process. They bring their memories, experiences, failures and aspirations, and sculpt their own meaning from it. It is with this in mind that I approach your questions. I don’t want to influence, or shape, the response to Time and the Tree. It’s important that the reader creates it in their own image, according to their need and belief, every single time.

But, to answer your first question, my name, Róisín, is Irish. Phonetically it is pronounced: Row-sheen.

1. Influences.  I hope that this first set of questions related to Influences is enough different from the question 'Where do you get your ideas?' that you won't, as most authors do for that version, turn from them in disgust and horror.:

Authors are often the worst people to describe their work. Articulate on the page, we stutter over words to encapsulate it. Some have been known to bark. I recall Samuel Beckett’s response when prodded: “No symbols where none intended.” 

But, I shall try…

A. Landscapes

What and where were the landscapes you encountered from earliest memory to the last sentence written that influenced your development of your story's landscape?

I grew up in Dublin, in Ireland. It’s a fantastic city. One of my favourite aspects of it, however, is how easy it is to get out of it and find oneself in the hills, smothered by gorse, or on the coast, doused by the smell of the sea.

Some of my earliest, and happiest, memories, are of sojourns along the west coast of Ireland. There’s magic there, it its unruly wildness.

My parents were attuned to the rhythm of the seasons. My mum grew things. My dad took enormous pleasure in the rise and fall of a wild creature’s chest. I learned to observe, and respect, the natural world, from them.

In my childhood, and in all that followed, mountains existed to be climbed; and admired. And trees, well, they offer enormous comfort, don’t they? Perhaps it’s their heartbeats that resonate with us, on a visceral level. 

Our small garden, growing up, was also a place of wonder. I recall hunkering down, head bent over the first flowers of spring. They never failed to draw me closer, and astonish me, every single time. I could have spent hours looking at them. I possibly did. 

As an adult, I took to the road, lured by the siren’s call. I’ve traveled across so many borders, now, that boundaries mean little to me. The world is astonishing in its beauty, and in its capacity to surprise. So, too, are the people one meets. 

I drew on my travels when recounting the Wanderer’s experiences. The road itself became an important landscape in my tale, with all its promise, and uncertainty. 

In this vein I can't help but wonder if you ever wandered alone in a forest as a child as Boy does?

I wandered, certainly. But with the knowledge that my parents were close by, so I never felt lost. Perhaps this sense of security is reflected in the Boy’s ease in this environment.

But, you are right to identify the important role the forest plays in the story. 

It links into the tradition of the fairy tale, where the forest is an enclosed world that can represent both danger and refuge. It thrums with possibility and life. And, for all that it keeps its secrets in the open, it hints at another space, that cannot be seen, that hovers on the edge of awareness. 

The forest is both a portal, and a boundary. 

B. Reading/Philosophies/Media

From earliest memories to the last sentence written, what were the cultural experiences from your life that influenced the development of Time and the Tree?

I live my life deliberately. I take risks and make choices. And I take responsibility for these choices. Even the bad ones. 

It’s a decision to live in this manner. It opens one to possibility; and it comforts with the knowledge that nothing is immutable, and change is always within reach. I remind myself that all that is past has significance, in bringing me to where I am. And all that follows flows from this moment. 

It makes me aware of time. It also helps me to understand that my relationship with time is within my control, and a decision that I make.

This is one of the central tenets of Time and the Tree. It challenges the reader to reflect on choices they have made, from a fresh perspective. It also offers hope. 

As our capacity for tyranny and self-destruction is enormous, so too is our light, and our ability to change. 

I am also a proponent of the Philosophy of Happiness. This, for some, is a tricky one. Culturally, we are encouraged to think of others, and do the right thing. This is critical for operating within social structures. However, this message has been packaged in guilt, and wrapped in self-sacrifice. Dousing the light, to let others shine. 

This, of course, is antithetical. 

Women, I believe, suffer particularly from societal pressure to deny personal need, desire and ambition, for the good of the tribe. They are defined by their roles. And celebrated, or shamed, accordingly. Little wonder that ‘the invisible woman’ haunts galleries, history books and tales of daring do. 

This diminishes all of us. In supressing the will to love and learn and be, it scrubs words and drags darkness into the space where the light should be. Without happiness we cannot help ourselves, let alone another.

The pursuit of happiness is explored in Time and the Tree. It examines the importance of self-actualization. It also illustrates the cost of erasing the self; underscoring the fundamental tenet that underlies pretty much every spiritual philosophy: love yourself; love others. 

Here I can't help but wonder if you discovered and loved allegory type stories as a child and, if so, which ones?

I devoured fairy tales, and all stories magical: The Brothers Grimm; Enid Blyton; Hans Christian Andersen. Then I moved on to fantasy. I read The Lord of the Rings numerous times. 

I just finished Kelly Barnhill’s The Girl Who Drank the Moon, which utterly bewitched me.

Children’s literature continues to fascinate me. It’s subversive. Magic is another word for possibility. And the format of the fable is extremely powerful.  

 

I used it in Time and the Tree because it employs a childlike simplicity that takes you by the hand and brings you to places you might never have otherwise ventured. Before you know it, you’re in the basement in the dead of night, while the wind howls and the electricity fails. 

 

Typically, fables also lead you home again; though the meaning of ‘home’ may have dramatically changed from when you set out on the journey.

C. Life Events

From earliest memories to the last sentence written, what aspects of your personal history influenced Time and the Tree?

I quit a good job to travel the world in pursuit of happiness. When I set out, I figured I’d find places that lured me into staying. However, I discovered that I was never happier than when my nose was pressed against the window of a filthy bus. The road became my destination, and I had time to think.

The opportunity to allow the mind to meander is a novelty in modern times. When my brain quit making lists, it had space for ideas.

I slept in countless beds, packed and re-packed my belongings, shedding stuff, where I could. My sense of need, my understanding of my blessings and opportunities, and my concept of home, evolved. 

During this time, I met numerous people who influenced my thinking and guided me towards my path. The opportunity to learn and practice Vipassana mediation in retreats in Dehradun in Indian, and in Shelbourne, Massachusetts, in the US, played an important role in the evolution of Time and the Tree.

Here I'm especially interested in how your personal encounters with loss and grief played a role in developing the core philosophy of Tree revealed near the end.  But if there are any others that come to mind I welcome them as well.

Death and life are intertwined. Endings and beginnings. Complicated stuff. 

We reach a point in our lives, where we all experience it, at some stage. There is no avoiding it.

Grief and death are not to be confused, however. Grief is painful and ragged. The cost of loving deeply. 

Death is what gives meaning to life. Without winter, there would never be spring.

2. Why did you choose to keep the Boy nameless and untethered to any hint of a life outside the forest?  No parents, siblings, culture of his own?  No past before the Tree?

The Boy is an archetype. He features powerfully in the story, but his role is to question, to seek, to be the site over which a battle is raged. And it is his function to transition from innocence to knowledge. 

He is a critical catalyst in the tale. But, most importantly, in retaining him featureless, he is a vessel into which the reader can pour themselves.

3. As I read your description of Weaver's Web in the far North I got chilling associations in my mind with our World Wide Web.  Was this intentional?  Part of your vision?  Or just a matter of your Story acting like a Rorschach's inkblot for individual readers as so many do?

Tyranny exists in many forms. We have witnessed this throughout history, and our current time is no different. The mechanisms of power change, but the intentions do not.

When I wrote the North, I had ample references. All of our time. They coalesced to shape this dystopian realm. The political unrest we’ve seen these past few years, and the misinformation that foments fear and creates the Other, all played into the evolution of the Weaver’s web. 

4. At one point I saw such a strong correlation between the relationship of Time and his Shadow to our Patriarchal culture's marriage dynamic that I half expected you to reveal them as the Boy's parents.  Rorschach or real?  Have you encountered in reading or travels any other culture types that use time tyranny the way Patriarchy does? Or any Patriarchy that did not? Or any at all that eschew time tyranny and yet exhibit sustainable success?

That’s a wonderful way to read the story, Joy. And I think the relationship between Time and the Shadow can be understood in many different ways.

More generally, time has always held great sway, in one way, or another. The pressure to get the hay in before the rain falls; the need to get the animals into the barn, before the night comes. The roll of the seasons, and the pendulum of day and night, have always been batons that beat out the measure of days and lives.

Then, the industrial revolution monetized time. And, in placing a value on time, it handed it to those with earning potential. Traditionally, men. The breadwinners sloughed to the factories and counted their days in hours spent earning a crust. It wasn’t great. But it was better than time being counted for nothing, which was the case of the domestic, female, sphere. Linking time to money created yet another power imbalance in the Patriarchal structure.

However, there are other ways to engage with time. And this is what Time and the Tree explores. Time is a construct of our making. The role it plays in our lives is ours to choose. It can be the yoke to which we tether our lives, as we strain and yearn towards a better future; or it can add weight to the present moment, with the knowledge that it too will pass, regardless of its wonder, or its pain.

This is central to Buddhist thinking, and it is an ethos that is slowly seeping into Western culture.

5. Why does Tree welcome Time and Weaver and exhibit a faith and hope that they can be redeemed?  Are there some aspects of these two characters that are essential to life if their attributes and actions had not been corrupted?  As distasteful as I found them I also registered empathy for them and this resonates with the personal philosophy I developed after I broke with the fundie cult I was raised in: That there is no such thing as an irredeemable sentient being.  Can you riff on this concept?

I don’t believe in the lost cause. Any more than I believe in our power to change another. We can help. We can support. And we can guide. But the impetus for change lies within the individual.

Our personal capacity for destruction and self-loathing is matched by our ability to evolve. It is within our power to create new thought patterns and relationship habits. We can change how we engage with the world, even when we cannot control society’s mechanisms. Who we spend time with; how we listen; the words we choose to speak; the silences and counsels that we keep. We can put out a hand to help another. Equally, we can decide that we ourselves are worth saving.

If this pandemic has reminded us of anything, it is that humans are adept at evolving and surviving. Regardless of how much we fight it, and how much it frightens us, change is always within our grasp.

The Tree does not bar the path to any who seeks its counsel. It does not stand on judgement. Nor does it crush its limbs, by flinging itself against the world. It helps the reader understand that “Time gives meaning to endings and beginnings and encourages us to dive into the chasm that lies between.”

It also throws the gauntlet to the reader to reflect on their path and the choices they’ve made, and the role they have cast Time in their lives.

The Weaver is more difficult to empathize with. Yet, the Tree consistently approaches her with compassion, even as it displays its steels. The Tree will not compromise, for all the Weaver’s wheedling. It will not be less than what it is. 

Ends

About Roisin Sorahan

Roisin Sorahan is an Irish author currently living in Vermont. She has published numerous stories about her adventures on the road, as well as life as an English teacher in China. Prior to becoming a nomad writer, she pursued a decade-long career in public relations. She holds a Master of Letters from Trinity College Dublin, specializing in Samuel Beckett. Time and the Tree is her debut novel. 

Website: https://roisinsorahan.com/ 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/roisinsorahan 

Facebook: https
://www.facebook.com/Roisin.Sorahan.Author 

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/roisinsorahan/

Buy Time and the Tree by Roisin Sorahan

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Giveaway Time and the Tree by Roisin Sorahan

This giveaway is for 3 print or ebook copies, One for each of 3 winners. Print is open to Canada and the U.S. only and ebook is open worldwide. This giveaway ends on March 12, 2022 midnight, pacific time. 

Entries accepted via Rafflecopter only.

Giveaway at this link:   a Rafflecopter giveaway

Follow Tour for Time and the Tree by ­Roisin Sorahan

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My Salmon Platter Birthday Dinner

My Salmon Platter Birthday Dinner

This is just a stub post.  I'm going to sit down and eat this before I tell the story of how I made for myself for the first time the 'special occasion' dinner that Ed used to make for me.  

It had been nearly two years and I realized if I was ever going to have it again I would have to figure out how to do it myself.  Beginning with the shopping. Followed by the chopping.

My first attempt isn't nearly as pretty as most of the ones Ed would make me.  Primarily do to the fact that a misunderstanding between me and my caretaker while we were shopping.  When I said yes to the canned spinach she thought I was agreeing to the substitute in the Salmon Platter Recipe but I was picturing using the canned spinach in other meals I could make for myself.  And then I overlooked the fact that we headed for checkout without stopping at fresh produce for the fresh baby spinach I wanted.

So to begin with my platter is missing the beautiful green leafy bed that always framed a decorative collection of colorful fruits and veggies in attractive slices or cubes or juliennes scattered around the outer edge of the plate or platter.

Another thing is I don't have a platter and my dinner plates are on the small size compared to what we once had, which I chose not to hang onto because they were heavy and slippery to handle in the sink.  And to be honest for any of the other menus in my small repertoire of fend for myself meals it is much healthier to have small plates and bowls to serve in.

Only in this and possible riffs with other meats would having a platter sized plate be potentially healthier.  And then, only if the extra space is used to add healthy greens and fiber and vitamin and mineral rich fresh produce.

Ed's platters were never the same twice.  That and the salmon and avocado was the only consistency.   A few time he would 'wilt' the spinach with bacon bits ahead of placing it on the plate but usually he just piled the bulk of it in the center of the plate with frilly edging of green peeking between and around the other fresh produce pieces.  And then he would place the hot salmon filet or steak on the center mound and let it wilt the spinach while I ate down to it.  Other times he substituted a fresh spring greens mix and attempted to keep as much as possible of it unwilted.

There would be at least three and often as many as six other produce chopped, sliced, or julienned. This is a list of the other produce Ed would prepare in no particular order after the top three which were nearly always the base with a single sweet item added unless none were in season:

Jicama 

Tomato

Avocado

Papaya

Mango

Nectarine 

Strawberry

Kiwi

Pear

Apple

Broccoli

Cauliflower

Carrot

Snowpeas in pods

There was seldom more than one sweet item.  Sometimes he didn't like the look of the tomatoes on offer so they did a no-show and sometime he wasn't in the mood to prep the jicama and would sub one or two of the crunchy items at the bottom of the list.  But I can't remember a single time there was no avocado.

Mine ended up nearly unrecognizable as lack of the fresh greens was just the beginning of the differences.  My knife work was clumsy and the shapes I created were random. 

And I don't think the mango was fully ripe.  I'd never shopped for one so I didn't know how to test for ripeness.  But it was hard to chop and nearly as dense as apple in all but the very center around the stem.  And it was not as sweet as I remember.

I came close to adding the tip of my own thumb to the jicama julienne.  I came down on the top if the nail so hard with the base of the long knife that I felt the pinch and my thumb throbbed like a fresh bruise for hours.  But thankfully no slice and no blood.

But due to shaky hands and low confidence after that incident, I had to take a long break before picking up the knives again.  Inexperience + knives + visual impairment is not a promising equation.

I think next time I do this I will plan ahead better so that my caregiver can do the chopping for me.  That had been my plan but the shopping took longer than I expected and we ran out of time Friday afternoon.  Basically that means I shouldn't plan on the shopping and the chopping being done on the same day.

But late this evening I managed to chunk out an avocado, a mango, and two Roma tomatos.  Then I heated up a can of spinach and a can of pickled slice beets (something Ed had never used but I found myself carving them as I came across them while hunting thru the grocery sacks for the ingredients. 

 

The next step was to cut the one pound fillet in two.

I seasoned with a Lemon Pepper spice mix and cooked a little under two minutes on each side to leave it hot but still raw in the middle.

I was serving it at 11:30 PM so it was barely still my birthday.  But oh so worth it.

Yes I've chopped enough stuff to make the same platter again Sunday evening.

 [edited Sunday afternoon, adding the bulk of the story following the opening paragraph.  I was too sleepy after I ate to come back to the post]

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NaNoWriMo 2021 and ROW80 Round 4 2021 Goals

My NaNo Profile

It's time to put writing fiction back into the passion category in my life. 

I set it aside after the death of my husband last fall in favor of personal journaling and poetry.  Then when the opportunity to move into my own place came in mid July all writing got set aside for the chaos of packing up, moving and unpacking and setting up my own home for the first time in over a decade.  For the first time ever living alone since I went straight from my parents home into my marriage in 1976

See the latest photo essay of my new place, including writing station here:

Almost Home? A Photo Essay

Though they are calling it independent living I can't be left completely on my own with visual impairment, high functioning autism and mood disorder so I have a support system in place of social workers and caregivers.  The latter come several times a week to help with chores and errands I can't do correctly or safely by myself.  Things that involve stepping more than a dozen steps outside either door, hot ovens, knives or making messes I can't see well enough to clean up thoroughly enough to prevent them from attracting pests.  Like the ants me and my two caretakers had to deal with this past week.  UGH.

I was frustrated when it became obvious that my caretaker schedule was being increased from two to five days per week as I had been liking the four unstructured days in a row and thinking what a treat they would be come NaNo.  But then two weeks after the move chaos and tamed to the point the time I was spending on unpacking, sorting, organizing, cleaning etc and dropped from ten hour days to less than four and I still had not added writing back, I relearned an old lesson: I MUST HAVE STRUCTURE.

Without it I'm more likely to binge watch a series on Netflix for 20 hours than to write for my daily story fix.

And I remembered that most of my best writing has happened when I had MADE time to write when it was most inconvenient to do so.

Habits and Accountability are key ingredients.  

I could not let this be the first NaNoWriMo missed since 2004 so I'm jumping in even though I got no prep in for it and I'm jumping back into ROW80 mid round for community and accountability. I've also joined the Vancouver WA regional NaNo community.

For my NaNo novel I've settled on reviving an old flash fiction piece I posted in 2007 which I claimed at the time was the prolog to a novel I was planning.  Which was true but possibly left the impression there was something more substantial than there was because there is very little left in the notes that wasn't crammed into that flash fiction piece.  The rest was in my head and has continued to haunt me all this time.

This particular story is perfect for this NaNo though, not just because it is a ready made story concept that still haunts me but also because it's theme is the very thing I'm struggling with as a writer.  Right now.  

The very thing that has been preventing me from maintaining a consistent writing habit for years: self-censorship out of fear of loosing even more of the few human bonds left in my life.

This issue with truth telling became huge in the final year of my husbands life and then after he died when it became clear to me that my complicity had played a role in his alcoholic devolvement because I covered for him with family, friends, employers and landlords.  

That had been forefront in my mind the day I walked into his empty apartment a year ago and immediately started taking photos with intent to post. I was done with covering for him, done with whitewashing my life.

Then a week later his brother tells me that seeing those pictures on fb had broke his heart and then days after Christmas he died of a heart attack.

And I stopped writing again.  Even journaling escaped me for months.

Then a few weeks ago, even tho I'd not reread the piece in years, that flashfiction character began to haunt me and I knew that she had to come out and play for NaNo because she might be the only one who can give me back my voice as I had invested her with all the courage I wish I had.

I'm going to repost it right here because the old post has lost all it's formatting and I don't want to spend an hour fixing it.  I've noticed that in a lot of my old posts.  What is Bloggers problem? Beside the point.  sigh.

A Tale of a Wail

by Joy Renee

Her mother would tell the tale for decades of how Abigail Ames sucked in her first breath and released it in a vibrato wail, with no impetus but surprise and how it took her seven years to break her daughter of the embarrassing habit of howling in the face of the tiniest frustration.  And her mother had broken her well.  So well that she didn’t cry when at age eight, she watched her brother’s dog Griswald break the neck of her kitten Calypso while her brother, Darcy, stood by laughing.  So well that she didn’t cry out at age ten when Darcy and his buddy Curtis strung a rope over a high tree branch and put a noose around her neck and slowly tightened it until crying out would have been impossible anyway as simply drawing breath burned like fire.  When they lifted her into the tangle of leaves and branches and then let go of the rope so that she fell, breaking her right arm and spraining her left ankle, still she was silent.

Her self-enforced silence began the night of her seventh birthday when her mortified mother removed her from the dinner party after she let loose an endless open-mouthed howl when eleven year old Darcy blew out her candles for her and told her that meant he had just stolen her wish.  Her wish had been to someday sing the part of Annie in the Broadway musical.  It didn’t strike her that the transference of such a wish to her brother was a ludicrous concept.  All she had registered was the irrevocable loss of hope.  She was inconsolable.  So her mother took her to her room and lectured her on the protocols of social engagements and the expediency of stiff upper lips for young ladies.  Especially for a daughter of the Apostle of the Airwaves, Amos Ames, author of Daring To Profess. 

"If you simply must cry, then go somewhere no one can hear you.  And if that is impossible, then at least get off alone and put your hand over your mouth like this."  She placed Abigail’s own hand over her mouth and pressed.  "There, see?  You can cry as hard as you want and no one can hear.  Pretty soon you will learn to do it without even using your hand.  Once you learn to do it without screwing up your face into that unsightly mess, you can scream and cry and carry on in a crowd without even disturbing your make-up."

Abigail took the lecture to heart.  She never again cried out loud.  But nor did she ever again sing out loud.  Not, at least, until she was nearly out of her teens and too old to play Annie.  Darcy had stolen her wish after all.  The first of many precious things he stole from her.  And now he was about to take from her the last precious thing because he refused to take her years of silence in lieu of an oath of eternal silence.

"Swear on what, Darcy?"  she asked.  "On my purity?  On my honor?  You took those from me long ago.  And what point is there to swearing an oath to a man without honor?  It would be nothing but babble in his ears.  Easy enough to disregard on a whim."

Nor would an oath suffice.  Darcy had not gone to the trouble of tracing her after ten years just to hear her mouth a ritual phrase.  She doubted he, on his own, had the means to track her to this remote mountain cabin in Southern  Oregon.  But he had managed to get a message to her through the one childhood friend  whom she hadn’t the heart to cut loose of.  Nor would Darcy have gone to that trouble on his own.  It had to be on behalf of, and with the resources of, Curtis Christopher, currently campaigning for United Sates Senator in Idaho.  Darcy had been Curtis’ campaign manager for every election he ran in since his run for Class President his senior year of college.  Abigail had been privy to the inner-circle of that one, though still in high-school herself.  She knew that Curtis kept himself willfully ignorant of the tactics Darcy used to make things go his way.  She knew that their ambitions had been, from the beginning, to go all the way to the White House.  With stakes that high, there was only one guarantee of silence that would satisfy Darcy.

Darcy’s mistake was in thinking that she had spent the last decade cowering in this redoubt, nurturing terror and shame, with nothing more than a salacious tale to tell that could be spun as sibling rivalry, if she ever dared to voice it, an embarrassment that could be averted by a single stroke. He could not suspect that the timid, biddable Abigail had been preparing to sing on a stage dwarfing any stage her seven-year-old imagination could have conjured, for if he had he would not have attempted to back her into the corner that abutted that stage on one side and the abyss on the other.  

For, far from nurturing terror or shame, she had been cultivating a network and a name recognized for integrity and intrepid truth scrounging.  Trudy Ann Daring, Investigative Journalist and founder of TruthDaring.com, had created the stage on which she would sing.  And her tale was far more than an uncorroborated he said/she said family scandal.  She had proof--documented facts and the living, breathing truth, that last precious thing--Truth Ann Daring, not yet ten, sleeping that peaceful sleep of innocence--just this little bit longer--in the loft over Abigail’s head.

 _____________________

Those words are not to be counted in this year's NaNo of course.

The title of the NaNo novel is Truth Daring.  Yes it is part of the Fruits of the Spirit Storyworld.  And yes, Abigail was raised in the cult featured in that storyworld.

Now for my NaNo and ROW80 goals:

Just one really: Write every day of November in the Truth Daring file.  Give Abigail back her voice so she can give me back mine and hope that spending enough time channeling Trudy Ann Daring will rub a little daring off on me.

After I've established that daily habit, I will see about adding goals.  But from where I sit now I think it would be HUGE if that is the only goal for the entire month of November and I meet and maintain it.

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My Brain on Books XXX

 

 

 

I am reading for The Office of Letters and Lights the folks who bring us NaNoWriMo today as I love what they are doing for literacy with their Young Writer's Programs and because I've participated in NaNo every year since 2004.  I have been blessed to have it in my life and would like to give something back if only kudos and link love.  I'm putting this plug at the top in hopes some who stop by will check out their site and see all the great things they do to foster love of reading and writing and story in kids. 

This post will be organized like a blog inside a blog with recent updates stacked atop previous ones. I may be posting some updates on Twitter @Joystory and the Joystory fb fanpage. But this is where I do anything more than a line or two.  Including mini-challenges that don't require a separate post..   

Be sure and see my tribute poem to Dewey and the Thon she birthed at the bottom of this post

My Read-a-Thon Nest

The Inheritance of Orquidea Divina
by Zoraida Cordova

12:22 AM (Sunday) - Coming up for air.  WOW.  I've spent this whole time with the same book.  Tho I must admit that eyestrain caused me to need to rest my eyes frequently and several times closing my eyes to rest them resulted in mini naps.  Most lasting minutes but one or two over an hour.  But the Libby ap says I spent a total of 11 hours 33 minutes on The Inheritance of Orquidea Divina by Zoraida Cordova  between 5AM and 12:11 AM.  It's a book I could have read in under six hours once upon a time but those times are gone forever.  But in spite of how long it took I am suffused with a sense of triumph for having read a whole novel in what is still in essence one sitting.

It was magical.  Not only the flashback to days of yore when reading a novel in one sitting was nearly a daily happening but the story itself.  Magical.  I feel like I've been dreaming and I don't want to wake up. How do I move on to another story now with only four hours and a bit left in the thon?

And it wasn't even the book I listed in the opening meme that was the one I was most looking forward to.  I started it in the first hour because I expected it to be an easier read than Matrix like a fantasy or a YA.  I thought I'd be done before noon and could move on to the literary Matrix with a tankard or two of coffee in me.

But this story turned out to be as complex as any Lauren Groff story I've yet encountered and contained themes as serious as any literary novel I ever read.  To top that off many of those theme are the very ones I'm currently obsessed with.  Loss.  Grief.  Dysfunctional family dynamics.  Family secrets.  The untrustworthiness of memory.  The power of creativity and imagination.  The importance of truth telling.  The primal need for connectivity.  The daily necessity for repentance and forgiveness.  The evil of misused power.  The need to just say NO to bullies of all stripes.  The arrogance of that sense of purity and piety that calls itself righteousness giving itself the right to judge others 'less than' which is the source of most of the pain we humans inflict on each other in the name of good.

4:44 AM - Intro Meme I'm setting this to go live at 4:44 AM but it may be well into hour 1 or even hour 2 before I check in again.  I'll be reading my first pick sitting in my beanbag chair nursing my first thermos of coffee.

1) What fine part of the world are you reading from today?

Kelso Washington USA.  Across the Cowlitz river from Longview where I grew up and had been living with my elderly mother since 2013.  I moved into my 400 square foot efficiency unit in late July.  Yesterday's post was a photo essay updating the current status of the settling in phase.

2) Which book in your stack are you most looking forward to?

Non-Fiction: Cultish: The Language of Fanaticism by Amanda Montell

Fiction: Matrix by Lauren Groff

3) Which snack are you most looking forward to?

Chips and guacamole.

4) Tell us a little something about yourself!

Widowed September 2020 

Living alone for the first time ever.

Legally blind with RP aka tunnel vision

Diagnosed with high functioning autism six years ago

Have a caregiver who comes in twice a week to help with chores and errands I can't do alone.

I proved during this move that I have more volume in fiber art supplies than in clothes by at least thee times.

5) If you participated in the last read-a-thon, what’s one thing you’ll do different today? If this is your first read-a-thon, what are you most looking forward to?

I'm hoping to interact with the community more this time than in the last several thons.

Ode to Dewey

by Joy Renee

vote, fav and share for Dewey

We Miss You Dewey

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