In my Own Backyard

In my soon-to-be-published historical novel for kids, WASATCH SUMMER, Hannah receives two turkey wings for her birthday. One is a gift from her Blackfeet friends, who tell her they use the wings as fans in hot weather. The second wing is from her mother, who uses them as a dusting tool.

Anticipating school visit requests, I've been looking for a turkey wing to use for show and tell when I speak to classes about the book. I've asked people I know who hunt or who know someone who hunts--but with no success. Monday, fiddling around on my laptop I typed "turkey wings" into the Google window and up popped several sources for intact feathered wings. The first site showed a gorgeous object, suitable for smudging. It cost $185. I gulped and went on down the list.

I came to a listing for Custom Feathers, which offered a variety of wings, feather sizes, and prices. I found one that sounded right and was reasonably priced. So I clicked away and put in my order.

Tuesday afternoon i heard the mailbox creak as it does when its lid is lifted. Normal sounds for mail delivery. But then the doorbell chimed--not normal. I found the largest Priority Mail envelope somehow managing to remain upright in our tiny mail receptacle. Inside was a beautiful turkey wing.

Amazed at the one-day delivery, I checked the return address. Custom Feathers is in Chillicothe, MO--a few counties away from Kansas City. I had found just what I was looking for--right in my own backyard.

Something to think about. How many other things, people, ideas have I roamed far and wide in search of, only to find them close to home?

Winter storms

A little less than a year ago, we were in Egypt, enjoying balmy weather and friendly hospitality from the people there. Now we're snowed in, watching the news about the demonstrations in the northern cities. We're not surprised because it was clear that there is much poverty and unemployment in that country and that the ruling government is not popular with the people. I hope that their struggle brings about positive, productive change.

While the Egyptians storm with righteous rage, the elements storm here in the Midwest--and across most of the country. Anxious birds attack our feeders in a frenzy, looking for survival--just as the people on the streets of Cairo are.

Writing and Knitting

I've just discovered that the sweater I've been knitting for Peter--and nearly finished--is too small and the sleeves are too tight. So i've been unraveling a considerable amount of gray wool yarn and working up the energy and will to try again. That may take a while!

It's as if I'd written an entire novel and then discovered that the plot was all wrong or that the characters didn't fit. The feat of unraveling 30,000-50,000 words is daunting. I'm saved from that by belonging to a critique group who will listen to chunks of what I'm writing and give me feedback and support. No need to wait until the whole book is done. I can unravel as I go along, sometimes more than once over the same chunk. I also learn as I hear how others have unraveled something that was giving them trouble the week before.

Writing and knitting--weaving words and stitches in combinations and patterns that work together and end up as a perfect fit. That's the goal. To get things right, it takes a lot of hard work, patience and perseverance--and unraveling.

Sources of Inspiration

A few days ago my son posted on his blog about finding inspiration for a new writing project while washing dishes. He and his wife live in Abu Dhabi and have had a variety of experiences--good, bad, humorous, irritating, etc. (including tremors from an earthquake far away in Pakistan)--but it was left to hot, sudsy water to provide a creative spark.

The same is true for me as a writer. Creative ideas come most often when I'm performing daily, mundane tasks that require little mental engagement--raking leaves, taking a walk, cruising grocery aisles, swimming laps, digging up a garden patch. It's as if physical activity allows the creative part of my brain to get in gear and the sparks fly! The same is true when I'm stuck on where to go next with plot or character in an ongoing project. I've found it's best to stop thinking about the problem and go do some mindless activity.

However, I draw the line at any sort of housework. Cleaning, dusting, or vacuuming is so distasteful that it blocks any creative idea that might be trying to get through.

The Missing Spatula

How is it that a vital kitchen tool can disappear overnight? Last night, ready to turn the tilapia fillets browning in a non-stick skillet, I searched the utensil drawer for the spatula designed for non-stick surfaces. Not there, nor in any drawer in the kitchen. Not in the dishwasher. Not in the freezer (where occasionally missing objects turn up). Using a metal tool, I carefully turned the fillets, now somewhat browner than I had intended, and went on with dinner preparations.

Since then, Peter and I have done an exhaustive search of the kitchen with no luck. Did our errant tool get boxed up with the Christmas decorations? Or did it just disappear into an alternate universe inhabited by single socks, lost books, missing earrings, and misplaced bank statements? And, if so, will it return before I spend money to replace it?

When more elusive things disappear--a memory of a person, event, or place, for instance--I find that simply relaxing and letting go works. If I let my mind move on, the memory soon pops into my awareness. Seeking, searching, looking for something lost is not always the best approach. Sometimes it's best just to wait.