Tag: Journal

Posted on

Travel: Portugal (wet clothes)

My dear travel adventure readers –

I left you last night anticipating the outcome of my adventures in laundry. I must report a slight failure in this endeavor. It turns out that hanging clothes on a rack in an apartment that dips to the high 50s at night and in a damp climate is not conducive to the drying of clothes. (My Dear Mr. Watson, Is this why we’ve seen peoples’ clothes hanging out for several days? Sherlock, your mind never ceases to amaze me!) So, this morning, I woke up to cold, wet clothes, which left me with a number of options 1) go out in the shirt I slept in and hear my grandmother’s voice all day, “You look like you slept in that shirt.” 2) go out in a wet shirt and hear my grandmother’s voice all day, “You’ll catch your death of cold running around in that wet shirt!” Or 3) find a way to dry the shirt. Option number 3) was the clear winner, but how?

I first hauled out the trusty space heater and had plans to lay the shirt across it and was, in fact, doing so (Sherlock was screaming in the back of my head the entire time) when I read the small print on top of said heater, “NĀO COBRIR.” I’m not sure if that is Portuguese or not, but Google Translate kicked that back as “Not Cover.” Plan B…

Rooting through a bathroom cabinet, I found an industrial hairdryer, so for the last fifteen minutes—had you been looking for me—you would have found me in the bathroom with a hairdryer in one hand and an espresso in the other, patiently drying my clothes. I, at first, felt somewhat guilty about using the electricity in such a way. Still, seeing as I’ve had no use whatsoever for a hairdryer in the last fifteen years… yeah, my carbon footprint in the hairdryer department remains small.

For the record, there was one other point when my grandmother spoke inside my head; it was when I set the hairdryer down in the wet sink (please remember that I’ve been lacking in the hairdryer do’s/don’ts for several years). My grandmother said, “Who are you? Thomas Merton!” I don’t actually know whether my grandmother knew who Thomas Merton was nor the suspicious circumstances of his untimely death, but I got the point and quickly removed the hairdryer from the sink.

My dear friends, I am caffeinated, have dry clothes, am eating a tasty breakfast, drinking one more espresso, and am about to head out on today’s grand adventure. I’ll be back unless I run into that bear…. hmmmm…. maybe the hairdryer in the sink was today’s bear? Sneaky bear.

Today’s adventure…

Posted on

Journal: September 11, 2022

The Queen was always a big help while I was writing. Full of inspiration and love bites to keep we awake. Crazy Cat!

I typed the date and realized that I should probably be journaling about the events of this day twenty-one years ago, but no… there’s been so much of that. Time to find peace even in the horror of it all. Instead, I checked back and saw that it was June 3, 2022, of my last journal entry, and I needed to catch up. (I’ll be off and on with this, so don’t expect one all the time.)

What’ve I been up to? Writing. Writing. Writing. I have finished the third draft of The Marble Finger: a Father Anthony Savel Mystery. What a remarkable process writing a book can be. It seems that every waking moment and available thinking space in the mind can be consumed with something entirely fictitious. I wrapped it up on Saturday, but all those characters are still chatting away in my head, wanting to go off on some new adventure–which, by the way, I’m already plotting… Salt Lake City. A long way from Wisconsin, but… no. No. No. That will have to wait for another time. Must finish up the Finger first. It is presently in the hands of five beta readers. Once they blow holes in it and I attempt to patch them up with bubble gum and ostrich feathers, I’ll get it out. The original deadline was December 1st, but I believe I will be several weeks ahead. Keep you posted–of course, I will! I want to sell a few copies! But… back to that bit where they want to keep chatting.

I’ve been so involved with it for so many weeks now that I’m finding it hard to let go and not want to go back and fiddle with it a bit, to be involved with them and have them fill the mind. That is one of the great aspects of writing: they take over. They do their things and say what they’ve got to say, and you are at their mercy. OH! That does remind me of a movie: Magic. I don’t know that I ever saw it, but I remember it. The movie poster! Such great rhymes 🙄…

Abracadabra,
I sit on his knee.

Presto chango,
and now he is me.

Hocus pocus,
we take her to bed.

Magic is fun;
we’re dead.

I promise you it is certainly not all that bad! It is just that the process is very consuming, regardless of whether or not the end result is any good. Anyhow…

I’ll be working on the grammar of The Golden Fistula and reissuing it a few weeks before the Finger comes out. Of the criticism that I received on Fistula via Amazon, it was the grammar. I’ve no idea what to do with any of it, but now I’ve got people who do. haha. I’ve also got new cover art coming for Fistula. The same artist will be doing Finger and the label for the new wine that is currently fermenting: Isabella. Can you say, “Some fava beans and a nice Chianti.”

Preach the Gospel. Write books. Make wine. Hmmm… I haven’t painted for a while.

Recipes to try: Pull-Apart Rosemary Garlic Bread. This one looks delicious, and I will definitely be trying it out.

What I’ve learned: If you try, you may surprise others, but you’ll definitely surprise yourself. You have a great mind. Apply it.

Thought for the day: Rejoice with me! I preached it this morning, and it is a good thought.

That’s it for now. Time for sleep and dreams…

Ay, there’s the rub!
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil…

… and Shakespeare now sleeps.
Posted on

Journal: June 3, 2022

I arrived back in Oklahoma late in the evening on Tuesday and have been processing all that I was able to see and do while in Italy (Florence/Rome). It was my first time out of the country (other than Canada and I don’t really count that one), so it took me a few days there just to get past the initial travel jitters. Afterward, I settled in and enjoyed it all. Funny, in all the pics and photos that I posted and that generated the most comments, etc, it was The Hat that generated the greatest conversation.

I do like the hat and it has now found a prominent home in my house. A great reminder of a wonderful experience.

I haven’t decided where I’ll go next, although the church has a pilgrimage to Israel in the works for next year, I’m thinking I would really like to visit Sweden/Norway. Not sure why other than to go up to the northern parts of those countries to try and see the trolls (an excellent documentary on the trolls can be found here.) There’s also India and that has been pulling at me for a long time.

For now, I’m working on getting back to normal. Nothing bad on the jetlag issue, but I have been waiting on the plumber to show up for the last three days to fix a leaky main leading into the house. Yep. You can go on vacation for as long as you like but the pipes are still going to break and the world is going to continue to revolve, and that’s OK too. I’ll be back at it for real on Monday but for now, I’m going to continue in vaca mode, which included bottling up the new vintage: Lucrezia (as in Borgia).

A very tasty, bright, and light, Chardonnay.

Finally, this morning, The Queen knocked over half a cup of coffee onto the book/manuscript I’ve been trying to write for the last couple of years: The Marble Finger (the second of the Fr. Anthony Savel mysteries). I figure that it was her way of telling me to get on with it or get it off the desk so that she’ll have more room to lay down. It is time. Actually, it is past time: let the murdering begin!

Posted on

Poem: Rules

there are rules

how we hate them

there are rules

but they must be followed

there are rules

but this is the night

they are broken

why?

because the pink engaged the blue

the blue was overwhelmed

and the sky became an end

Yes

There are the days

when the moon shines

and the whiskey flows

but then there are days

when the atrocity of it all

melts in the pink of your flesh

cries for another day

and screams at the night of your death

to return to the day before

Yes

I’ll make the scars

that traverse my skin

waiting for the days

that you are buried in us

Yes

I saw the moon set

and the sun rise

there was no sleep

but

but

the pink engaged the blue

and the blue

and the blue

LIVED!

Posted on

Sun or Moon

the sun or the moon

my eyes are seeking you

the sun the moon

the skies are above you

the sun the moon

in the end we are together

a place of light

and a place where the skies

skip to their own tune

a place of darkness

that brings hands

grasping for one another

snow on the mountain

end of things

but not the end

only a new beginning

in the full light

of the sun or the moon

Posted on

Journal: January 20 (almost 21), 2022

Where have I been for the last month….

The sun rose and the sun set.

The inn was full and Christ was born.

The moon rose and the moon died.

The shepherds visited and the Innocent perished.

The Magi made a clandestine visit and we listened for the drummer.

This is a picture of St. Anthony in Torment by Michelangelo with a watercolor overlay.

Then you realized your rainbow was full of demons….

I’ve been doing the “dry” January, which has turned out to be a semi-arid environment with the occasional shower. It has been good and I have dropped more than a few pounds. It is good.

I’ve been reading more than usual, but when you have a 1,200 page book, it takes more than a few days to get through it. Yes… The Stand. There truly is not a more remarkable book outside of the Good Book. And whether he admits it or not, S. King knows more about God, the devil, Holy Scripture, and everything else in between than most of us folks who run around in fancy robes (or skinny jeans) on Sunday mornings. You can’t paint the picture unless you’ve seen the original…. no what I mean? Yes. Yes you do.

The Priest work is going well. It is good to hide behind my robes, but I’m guessing most can see the hypocrite in the shadows. It is the reason for the failure. My friend Brennan ( what a great name) says that Jesus comes along side each of us and says, I know your whole life story. I know every skeleton in your closet. I know every moment of sin, shame, dishonesty and degraded love that has darkened your past. Right now I know your shallow faith, your feeble prayer life, your inconsistent discipleship.

Funny I can never remember the rest of it.

I should just go to sleep now and wake up…. later.

Life is good. Yes it is.

Ah… The Queen. Her Majesty is a Royal…. um… yes… Hinney! LOL. She has her moments, but it is a delight to come home from the day and find her waiting for the scrub under the chin. She is Rain, but she lives into her “title”.

There are many thoughts and so many things to say, but they seem to wander off on their own and find other places to germinate….

Do you ever just not want to go to bed because it is the first time in many days that you have the opportunity to think, write, paint, dance, listen, etc.? There are days that this is the way we roll around here. I’ll stay up too late and listen to tunes, paint goofy pictures, think of writing, pray (yes, I do that), wonder who I would be if I let go of control, and then sleep…

…. No more—and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep—
To sleep—perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub!
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause—there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of disprized love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death
The undiscover’d country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?

Tired.

… but still………… let’s stay awake for another hour or so.

Blog at WordPress.com.
%d bloggers like this: