The Year Continues…

I’m home again, from my most recent Florida trip. The garden is starting to bloom. The pineapple sage has, improbably, migrated six feet to the side and into an entirely different bed. The lavender did not survive the winter. The ferns did. I’m waiting to see if the baby fig tree is going to recover from the harsh cold snaps.

I’m writing again–well, editing, mostly, but ideas are starting to pile up around the edges for stories once I clear my desk of the current novel. I’ve found a lovely editor, who’s pushing me hard to get more detail and more action, break up the long blocks of dialogue with exposition. I’ve actually overhauled several chapters practically from the ground up to add tension. The editing process is as slow and tedious as writing this book has been. I want to release this book by November. I’m waiting to see if I can accomplish that.

My mom is still smiling, still laughing, still looking at the beauty of the world around her. Her appetite is frankly incredible, considering that when I left in November I usually had to coax her to eat more than a few bites. Now she’s eating everything in sight, seems like. It’s absolutely wonderful to see. She’s okay with sitting and listening to people talk, but a lot of the time she really just wants to be left alone. According to the doctor, the cancer has probably spread to her liver. I’m waiting. Just … waiting.

The trees are an improbable shade of green. Tiny yellow leaves are dotted across the roof. My office window looks out over the garage roof, so I get to watch the wind shuffling the dry ones around and tugging resolutely at leaves still damp from last night’s rain. The neighborhood is quiet, except for birds chittering about whatever birds talk about. My faithful old dog is sleeping at my feet, snoring on occasion. I’m feeling incredibly blessed to have this beauty, this time, this solitude, this space. I know it’s a rare gift. I know it won’t last. I’m not going to wait to enjoy this.