Thanksgiving Ingredients

Use the best ingredients, pay attention to detail, and savor every morsel. Good advice for preparing any meal, is good advice for living life.

Am I a Writer? I say, yes, and that’s the only opinion that matters to me. I write. I always have. I’ve written for others. I’ve written just for me; four boxes of old journals on the top shelf of the storeroom attest to that. I’ve sold my writings, but there are novels and stories and poems filed away along with their rejection slips in my studio’s lone filing cabinet that may never see print.

Am I an Artist? A Photographer? I say, yes, and that’s the only opinion that matters to me. I paint and draw and take photographs. I’ve done them all for others. I’ve done them all just for me. I’ve sold many paintings and some photographs, and many more languish in a portfolio on the top shelf of the coat closet.

The only opinion of me that matters to me is my own. If I can look in the mirror and like and respect the Woman I see there, it is enough. That belief has drawn considerable fire from friends, family and foes alike for most of my life. Now, I have company.

Lately I meet more and more like-minded women. Women, who at 40 and 50 suddenly asked why not, instead of why. It’s as if they’ve crossed some magic boundary in their lives and now they’re making up for lost time in pursuit of their authentic selves. Now ask, “why did I wait so long? Is it too late? Can I become myself at this late date?” Just say, yes, and that is the only opinion you need. Life’s banquet waits; the choices are yours.

On this Thanksgiving Day, I am grateful for the banquet that is life. I can choose from the bounty and savor my choices. I joined the Blogosphere recently and what an adventure it is. I can find homes for words that have too-long languished in boxes on a shelf. I’m mining those old journals for timeless topics. I’m posting old and new poems on gather.com’s poetry groups and perlespoems.blogspot.com.

I’ve decided to give this Blog a Mission Statement:
That Mission is to Savor Life and bring others along on my journey, while encouraging them on journeys of their own.

Writing and Partying

Saturday again. Not blogging much, as most of my time is taken up with two things.

1. My Novel - I hit 34,011 words and counting this morning in spite of a slight hangover. I’ll be updating my NaNoWrimo profile later today. I’ll make 50,000 words by midnight of November 30 if not a little more, and then the real work begins – edit, rewrite, flesh out (50,000 words does not a novel make). I’ve gone through this before in 04, 05, 06, but I’ve yet to feel any of my endeavors are ready for primetime except perhaps in my daydreams.

2. Partying – I’ve been making the rounds of the season’s open houses, gallery openings, etc. Thursday, it was Loretta Goodwin’s ‘Tiny Treasures’ show and last night was Maralyn Wilson’s and Naked Art.

Jasmine (cat) is alternately lounging in the old black rocker by the heater or out on the balcony, which I’ve already sheltered against winter with some great clear vinyl from Hobby Lobby. It’s nice to sit here by the double windows at my laptop and occasionally look out across the balcony to the rain of yellow leaves on both sides of the street.

I’ve downloaded some of the photos last night’s opening. At Maralyn Wilson's - A window full of mouthblown glass ornaments, Metal Christmas tree (below)

Entrance to Naked Art Across the street (right).

At Zoe's vintage store: Gorgeous antique evening purse and cat on couch who could care less. (below)

Back to the novel - later...

Walk-About

Walking at six on a Saturday morning is pleasant especially now that the air is cool and crisp. Summer’s finally loosed her hold on Birmingham. Its miasmal humidity is now heavy dewdrops strewing diadems on leaves, fading blossoms, and blades of grass.

Most of my neighbor’s windows are still dark; it appears that I am the only witness to the day’s dawning. As the sun lifts night’s veil from the city, I walk out my door and turn northeast on 14th Avenue toward the part of town we call Southside. There are houses, apartments, small businesses, the SouthSide Police precinct, a wonderful old house restored and housing a B&B, restaurants, and more.

At 21st way, I turn left down Highland past the Western grocery store where I’ll stop on the backside of my walk and pick up coffee beans and maybe a decadent breakfast of bacon biscuit and grits. Five miles takes me by silent offices of attorneys and architects; churches and synagogues; restaurants cleaning up from the night before and Starbucks just opening to a waiting crowd and putting out the outdoor tables; people running themselves or walking their dogs; the Golden Temple Health store receiving goods through a darkened door; the post office with a single light on in the back where a few postal workers sort the day’s mail.

When I crossed over red mountain expressway, I looked down on the few cars of souls that either work on Saturday or are just getting off and going home. The sound of cars recedes to a soft surf-like sound, as I leave the overpass behind and head for home.

The sky is blue and the fall sun is politely warm knowing winter is just around the bend, and no longer can he beat on us unmercifully. To each season…

Home, up the stairs and put the coffee on, a quick shower and then a little time on my balcony porch swing to contemplate my blessings, pat cat and write a while in my journal…

Life is good.