I always find it a bit startling when Daylight Savings ends and it starts to get dark around 4:30 in the afternoon. So to help myself, and hopefully a few others, here are ten things to consider.

1. Dark can be peaceful, even restful. Don’t fight it.
2. The mornings are bright and welcoming.
3. It could be time to get out those cozy blankets and throws.
4. Notice one thing that you like about dusk.
5. If you’re feeling sad about less outdoors time, start an indoor project.
6. Make soup–this almost always works for me–and share some with a neighbor.
7. Learn from animals–this photo of my dog, Rudy, says it all.
8. I know this sounds like a cliche, but light a candle and put on music you like.
9. Read a good book. If this hasn’t been something you’re already doing, visit your local library.
10. Hibernate–yes, I know we can’t really do that, but let your body adjust to a different time.

 

Maybe “harvest” is too grand a word for my little garden, but here we are in mid-September and my very long string beans and my cherry tomatoes have given me another wonderful bounty. I’ve come to think of the way I garden as “benign neglect”, meaning that I plant things, care for them, but then step aside and let them do what they want to do. It’s a little like raising children. Or writing a book. Effort and then no effort. Waiting. Thinking of other things. And the best part is that it’s always surprising. For example, a few weeks ago I realized that nasty vines were invading my roses. I put on my gardening gloves, yanked out as many as I could reach, got stuck by the thorns in the process, but now have two rose bushes that are so full of blooms I can’t keep up with them.

Patience is not one of my best qualities, but my fall harvest tells me wait, keep an open mind, and maybe, just maybe if I’m lucky, something unexpected will show up.

I’m reminded today of the power of gratitude as I came across an email, written to me by a job search client, 13 years ago. I was a bit bored and had decided to clean out a closet where I keep a lot of papers and there it was. This client had landed a good job and in thanking me, she wrote: “I carry your book, Eliminated! Now What? around like a Bible. It gives me great comfort and reassurance when I falter or self-doubt begins to creep in.”

That was and is a gift. An important reminder of why I do what I do. A connection. If you’d like to take my gratitude challenge, think of a person, past or present, who has helped you, and drop them a note. You’ll rarely know its impact, but do it anyway. It could just make someone’s day!

 

I recently entered a contest for very short writing and came up with two, fun pieces. Enjoy!

LOST

She sat at the diner, coffee cold, muffin half eaten

And wondered where to go next.

He hadn’t even sent a note or called

But she knew it was over the way you know

When a storm is coming and is about to break

Over your head.

 

 

 

DELICIOUS

He leaned in and she felt the heat of his face

The stubble of whiskers

His eyes on hers and she couldn’t help

But lift her face, her heart

Because just at that moment in the dark alley

They shared their first kiss. 

 

 

Check out my short story, “Restrained”, published in the online journal, “Literary Heist.” https://www.literaryheist.com/. Scroll down to short stories and you’ll find it.

 

 

.

My desk is next to this bed where my two dogs love to take a morning nap in the winter sunlight. I glance over at them and can feel how warm their fur is, can feel relaxation. They’re quiet. Right up against each other.

My favoirte Christmas Carol is “In the Bleak Mid-Winter” and I sing it as I walk the dogs in the cold air. But there is nothing bleak about these two creatures even as the days shorten. I sing in a church choir and this season is advent–a time of waiting. Waiting for the darkness not to win. Waiting for light to return. Waiting for miracles.

I never thought of sleep as the best way to wait, but Rudy and Dixie, my two dogs, know best. They say:  find a sunny spot, close your eyes, let go of whatever you think you have to do and just be here. See what happens.

Celebrated my birthday yesterday and went to a good friend’s house for tea and cake. It was great, and then sitting on the couch with her bulldog, Lucy, I got the best present ever. IMG_3085. Watch it and I dare you not to laugh!

My therapy dog, Rudy, and I will be at the Lyme Public Library, for a free talk on what makes therapy dogs special and how they’re trained. Rudy loves to meet new friends and does some fun tricks. P.S.That’s  not  us  in  the  second photo.

It’s easy to get discouraged, especially when you’re doing something difficult like writing a book or a song, taking on a new project, caring for a sick person. I’ve been writing a nonfiction book for the past 2+ years, tentatively titled:  Through a Dark Ravine:  The Way of Disobedience. I’ve done my best to make this personal story honest and compelling, I’ve had readers help me, and I’ve emailed a strong pitch to a number of literary agents. What’s come back is either silence or a polite  “No thanks.”

I’m stubborn and motivated, but this got to me and I had to take a break from writing. Had to step back and gain perspective. And in that pause, I picked up a wonderful book by Joyce Carol Oates:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She gave me a new perspective and helped me see that “the writer… is a curious melange of wildly varying states of mind…indecision, frustration, pain, dismay, despair, remorse, impatience, outright failure….the writer, however battered a veteran, can’t have any real faith, any absolute faith, in his stamina (let alone his theoretical “gift) to get him through the ordeal of creating, to the plateau of creation.. The artist, perhaps more than most people, inhabits failure…”

Wow! So instead of hoping for easy or depending on recognition from others, the task is tricky and full of discouragement and yet, if this is something I and others choose to do, then we do it. We do it with our eyes wide open. We do it knowing it’s hard, knowing we’ll get lost, knowing that there are endless deadends but that as we work, we improve our craft. Thank you, Joyce Carol Oates.

These beautiful snowdrops have been up for a few weeks here in coastal Connecticut. They’re elegant little flowers with drooping heads that look like clusters of fresh snow. But weeks before these brave plants bloom, skunk cabbage arrives in the streams and muddy places in the woods. They are spirialed, cone-shaped, in purple and green with a sharp tip that can cut through snow or ice. And better yet, they produce heat so they can actually melt the snow that covers them. (The technical term for this it thermogenic.)

Both of these early spring visitors remind me of my mother. She had a sharp eye for wild flowers and also kept track of the birds, writing down when she heard the first robin and the haunting call of a wood thrush. It was her way of marking the seasons, and I think a way of hope, too. Look what has just emerged from the frozen ground. Isn’t it wonderful? I think so.