Delete my blog, I mean. Today I’ve had time–after first cleaning the small bathroom which belongs to my husband because younger son who isn’t exactly young as he was born in 1962 is coming from Florida for a visit–to review some of the pieces I’ve written here on my blog. I have enough essays to publish a book of essays!! And may. I had forgotten I had so many. So, no, I’m not deleting my blog.
Now why, one may ask, is someone coming from Florida to Missouri in December? From what I could gather in a phone conversation, Florida is getting too expensive and he and his wife are wondering about other places.
Top on his list? The Kansas farm. Of course his older brother, who already lives with us and teaches Middle School math, has already made dibs on living up there. But thankfully, both brothers like each other so they can work that one out. However, if this happens, it probably means losing MY little house up there, unless, of course, they build another.
The little house is one room with a kitchen in one corner, a bathroom on the west side where a window looks out on the prairie–I like sitting there–and a side extension where the bed sits. And in front of the sofa is a television set, and in front of that a door leading out to the porch where Cliff and I like to sit on summer evenings and watch the sky change. Along with the little house, there’s an old brick garage which is now cleaned out and where Dad had his workbench. It was really thickly covered in decades of greasy dirt. The old garage also comes complete with a lot of spiders in the rafters. Oh, and there’s the old chicken house which is falling in on itself. There’s more of course, but you get the idea and you probably don’t need to know about the grain bins and the lean to sort of barn Dad built after the old real barn burned down decades ago.
At any rate, you sort of get the picture and if you are bored and want to look through old posts there’s some that show the farm or kitchen or whatever.
I also have to clean up my writing room, which is our only guest room. There’s piles of papers all over the floor. After writing and publishing From Ocean to Desert, it was time to start the Mexico book, as it’s been called, for many years. And it still isn’t done. It’s only in piles of stops and starts. The title is now “A Gringa Loose in Mexico.”
It’s been a hard book to write. Not only because it’s in so many piles (well, maybe that too) but because there’s so much. There’s living in New York, and going to Mexico to make a movie, and falling in love with a people and a country, and a curandera, whose name was Gloria, initiated me one night in the desert. She is why I eventually became a healer.
So anyway I’m back and need to return to finding, in this mass of piles, the piece about going to Gloria’s house where I was blessed, again, by a shaman like healer.
But, I’ll be back….and then I’ll figure out how to delete the pesky line below that seems to want to stay.