Someone landed on my blog the other day when they searched for “Hoosier cabinet.”
In the section on “Habits” from her newest book, Rumors of Water, she asks, “Do you cultivate your wild side?”
I stop to wonder what happened to my wild side. Or even if I ever had one. If so, I think it’s as overgrown with
weeds wildflowers as my ex-garden.
I think I’ve grown too serious. Don’t play enough.
Our neighbor stopped and asked my husband if I wanted that little plot tilled up this year. Dennis told him probably not. That chances are I wouldn’t have time to tend it. Kind of one of those siphon things L.L. talks about–something that needs to be released for a time.
That means there might not be any words about sun-warmed tomato juice running down my chin or snakes slithering between my feet.
But I still have my camera.
And plenty of drain-clog episodes. (You’ll have to read the book.)
I try too hard
sometimes often to squeeze out words. And lately I’ve gotten away from the habit of daily free-flow writing.
John Gardener, author of The Art of Fiction, notes that when we begin describing things, even seemingly unimportant things, we find the questions we may need to be asking in our writing, as well as the possible answers. Rumors of Water, p. 78.
It’s one way to cultivate our creative center.
Kind of like I did with the Hoosier.
The sun’s shining. I step outside and chide the woodchuck who’s stealing sunflower seeds from under the bird feeder. He runs under the porch. A faint scent of skunk wafts from (inside?) the garage, and I’m grateful for the Snuggle fragrance hanging on the breeze. I wander out to the so-called garden plot and wonder if maybe I could manage to take care of it this year.
It’s so nice out, though, I think I might drag the clothes out of the dryer and hang them out.
Then I remember a poem I wrote about a year and a half ago.
All lined up
dressed to the T’s
shoulder to shoulder
hip to hip
and clip to clip
on vinyl pews
swaying with the spirit
and waving praises
in hallelujah colors.