Gloom

The weather is not certain what it will do from one day to the next, and I find myself completely in tune with the tempestuousness of it all.  Inside the next room one of our cats appears to be having a nightmare.  Her mournful cries resonate so well with how I am feeling today.

I am so unsettled.

Found

My mom found a survey of sorts that my Grandma Iva filled out as a senior in high school.  Slowly, slowly the mystery unravels.  :)

Name – Iva Grace Moyers

Where and When Born – Bergton, VA Aug. 5, 1929

Schools attended – Bergton & B.H.S.

Favorite Color – Blue

Favorite Girl’s Name – Dawn

Favorite Boy’s Name – Harris

Lucky Number – 19

Favorite Sport – Basketball

Favorite Subject – Civics

Favorite Hobby – Reading

Favorite Expression – “Good Grief.”

Favorite Movie Star – Robert Mitchum

Plans for After Graduation – Get a job.

 

Nighttime Pests

Hello, anxiety.  I thought I noticed you gnashing your hideous fangs in the shadows behind the bookshelf.  Now that a gentle silence has fallen across the house and the others have gone to rest and dream you think you can step from the darkness and wrap at my skull once again.  Trying your best to sound cordial and well-meaning with phrases that begin with good intentions and important messages.  There is a poison within those words that send my mind into a spiraling circle of despair and unease.  You are not welcome here, and though I try persistently to escape your acidic tongue, I find myself succumbing nightly to your menacing ways and curl up with my hands over my ears screaming  ”GO AWAY!”

Findings

Mama and I recently took one of our frequent treks to the Green Valley Book Fair.  I am so excited to live so close to the largest book store on the East Coast.  The books are fantastic in quality and variety, and you can always find at least one to suit your present fancy.  Personally, I have to limit myself to a very strict budget or else all hell would break loose on the bank account.   I found three lovelies this go-around:

This is a lovely alphabet book that features all things musical.  I absolutely adore the art and the words the author has chosen.

This one is absolutely beautiful.  It features poems about colors and the four seasons.  It entranced me and was a must-buy.  The illustrations are astoundingly beautiful.

I am most excited about this gem.  It seems to be right up my alley and a tool I could really use right now.  I may start posting some of the tasks/projects mentioned in this book over the next few days/months.  It seems quite inspiring and I have nothing to lose.

What are you reading?

Grasping

I spent the afternoon at my great-aunt and uncle’s house, browsing through a big box of beautiful black and white photos.  The goal of the visit was to learn more about my paternal grandmother, Iva Grace.  She was absolutely breath-taking and full of spunk, and she died at 28 in a car crash.  What I know of her is so fragmented, and I feel like I desperately want to grasp every bit of knowledge possible about the woman who has my mouth and cheekbones.  I learned that she was beautiful all around, and that she had a wonderful sense of humor.  She read books while lounging sideways on arm chairs, and always decorated the church for Christmas.  She loved my great-aunt and uncle’s son so much that when my dad was born, he was jealous that he was no longer the sole object of their affection.  She loved to bake and cook and dressed like a movie star.  She shared secrets with my Meemaw and they were best friends.  I know that hormones have something to do with it today, and the glass of white wine I am sipping is probably not making things better, but I feel as if I am mourning someone I’ve never met.  Life’s funny like that, I suppose.

My grandparents, Iva and Ernest (Brown) in the 1950s

Rainy Days and London

I had a dream I was in London, and woke to rain and clouds and such a melancholy feeling.  London and I became fast friends nearly five years ago (wow…) while I was studying abroad.   Two of my dearest friends and I were only there for four days, but it felt so right to be walking the streets and soaking in the history and beauty surrounding us.  I grew up on Saturday Night Sillies and ice cream in the living room, curled up on the couch with my parents and siblings.  It was through the antics of the witty Brits I began to unconsciously familiarize myself with the culture and landmarks of the ancient city.  Someday, maybe, I will tread the cobblestone streets again and reconnect with the city that still pleasantly haunts my dreams.

I captured this image while standing beside Westminster Abbey.  London 2006.

Connections

I found myself driving along the windy asphalt of Route 259 on a day of absolute ridiculous heat.  Our family doctor’s office is nestled within the folds of the Appalachian mountains just outside the town of Bergton, where my father was born.  While listening to my usual folksy tunes I noticed how familiar and beautiful the surrounding area was in spite of the haze.  I was reminded of Barbara Kingsolver’s Prodigal Summer (which I am re-reading) and the way her characters feel such a deep connection with the land surrounding them.   Upon arriving back at home, I asked my mom where my great-great-grandparents lived, being aware of the location of my great-grandparents lovely white farmhouse.  She smiled and told me my great-great grandfather was raised in a similar white farmhouse about half a mile up the road.  She also told me that at one point said great-great grandfather owned almost all of the land that is now Fulks Run and divided it up among his six children.  My great-grandfather was given the chunk of land that my grandparents still live on, and although it has been since sold, is still a beautiful place to explore.  Luckily the couple that bought the land has a great respect for the ones who grew up among the trees and rock formations along the mountain side.   I love when real life coincides with my current literary excursions.  It makes the entire experience even more magical.

Also, I learned that my definition of the word “prodigal” and the actual definition of the word were quite off.  I always assumed “prodigal” meant something along the lines of a return to something.  Because the prodigal son returns home after everything is spent.  The actual definition of the word is:

prod·i·gal [prod-i-guhl]  –adjective

1. wastefully or recklessly extravagant: prodigal expenditure.

2. giving or yielding profusely; lavish (usually followed by of or with ): prodigal of smiles; prodigal with money.

3. lavishly abundant; profuse: nature’s prodigal resources.

I suppose even human lexicons make mistakes every once in a while. :)

New

I’ve got a fresh coat of polish on my crooked toes.  It is the color of brand new tomatoes and new beginnings.  Although summer has struck with its toasty, humid vengeance, I feel within a sense of spring.   While doorways to uncharted new places have not yet unlocked themselves, I am finding new rooms in the hallowed hallways of the present.  I’m taking what I have and making it better.  Making my life a bit more pleasant without stepping on too many toes.  Hopefully.

I’ve read almost three books in the past two weeks.  Three.  That is a whopping three more than I had read two weeks ago.  I also dyed my hair auburn and have lost 17 pounds since February.  Something within me is striking my creative nerves on several levels and the projects and promises are beginning to form in my mind.  I need to write them down, for my crazy-ass Muse arrives on the tailwinds of the summer in a flitter of delicate wings and autumn leaves.  When She arrives this time, I will be prepared.   It is nearly August.  Already.

Seasonal Lament

Dear Summer,

I am aware that you have been here for less than a month, but I am already for your departure.  Your presence summons restless thoughts and frizzed up hair along with a general consensus of misery within my body.   I find no joy in your stifling days, and find no comfort in your humid nights.   Please just hurry yourself along and let your sister, Autumn, know that she is welcome to arrive a few weeks early.

 

Sincerely,

Kelly

Nostalgia

There’s nothing out here but a pastel sky and some fireflies.   My cruddy day has been salvaged once again by Mother Nature.

As a child, I would spend the waning evening hours with my best friend staring as if hypnotized into the soft light.  A flash of green would send us running across the yard and sometimes into bushes.  On a good night we’d have upwards of fifty lightning bugs clamoring over one another in feeble attempts to escape despite our idea of a viable habitat with wilted leaves and some carefully punched air holes.  It is difficult to deny that a jelly jar is any comparison to the open air, even if there is enough room to breathe.  We would keep up our vigilant search until simultaneous calls from diagonally placed front porches signaled an end to the chase.  There were often whispered invitations and scrambles to pack overnight bags on those summer nights.

She now lives miles and miles away in Vermont, and I often find myself missing those carefree evenings when a shout across the street was the only requirement for an adventure.