Making Waves: 4 Voices

It's done!  I have a copy in my hands of the poetry anthology my southern writing group has published. 

The process has been a fun one, most of the time.  The four of us meet weekly, critique one another's work, laugh, snack, cry, inspire, help one another through writing woes and celebrate our acomplishments. 

Making Waves: 4 Voices is a sampling of our poetry.  It is also the "demo" for our next project: publishing a journal of poetry, essays and short stories written by emerging and established artists, with an emphasis on women over forty.  Now that we've finished our book, I can't wait to get started on my new "job" as a co-editor of Rising Tide Review.

Stay tuned for more on Rising Tide Review!  If you're one of my writing friends and have something you'd like to submit for possible publication, email me at sunnywrite@aol.com.  We are in the process of developing our website, getting our post office box and all the little details that must be attended to in order for Rising Tide Review to become a reality.

If you're interested in reading Making Waves: 4 Voices, it can be purchased at Amazon.com.  I'll sign it for you next time I see you! 

Want vs. Need

Our goal to downsize and simply our life is nearly met.  Nothing new comes in now unless something old goes out.  This isn't simply because we've chosen to live each month on the amount of money one of us used to make in a week.  It's more a commitment to weeding out what's truly necessary.

We're not quite to the point of only owning 100 things -- our CD collection alone would put us far over that yardstick, and then there are cassettes, LPs, 45s, reel to reel and, yes, 8-tracks.  We consider "music" one "thing:".  Same with books.  More than anything else, our music and books define us.  We consider these items "needed".

We only have one set of dishes, a half dozen coffee mugs, minimum cookware, etc.  I don't miss fancy china, table clothes, or that gravy boat I only used once a year, if then, cluttering up my limited cupboard space.

And clothes -- gone is the closet full of black pants/skirts/blazers I once wore to my 9-5 job.  My daughter, hoping to borrow something from my closet during the time I had a real job, stared at my work wardrobe and asked, "Just how many funerals a week do you go to, Mom?"  Hubby had button down shirts, ties, suits.  Today you'll find only jeans, bathing suits, tie-dyed t-shirts and such in our one closet.  Sandals, sneakers and mud shoes are all we need.  Most days it only matters that we're dressed, not what we're dressed in.  Ah, the freedom in this alone!  I've cut all hubby's shirts into strips for a rag rug that now collects sand at our front door.

I've always tried to instill in my kids and others that taking care of basic needs then allows you to enjoy all life has to offer as well as better handle those occasional curve ball tossed at you when least expected.  I feel the truth in this every day now as I tend my garden, walk Rupert, make chicken soup, walk the pier while sipping a cup of tea from my own kitchen, or relaxing in the yard when friends drop by. 

I am blessed.  What I need is all I want.

Going Back to Sleep

That's what we do these days, we go back to sleep.  Awake before 6:00 a.m., we'll read or snuggle or simply listen to the laughing gulls, terns and doves beginning their day.  Then we find ourselves waking again later -- sometimes late morning -- and our day starts by coaxing Rupert the Wonder Dog, seven years old now, into going for a walk.

We've had a couple of years now of tremendous work that equalled the successful re-birth of a used bookstore, so much so, we had to walk away to conserve our health.  Our only regret is not having made the move to open the store about ten years earlier, before age caught up with us.  The agony of that decision to shut the doors of Book Hounds PLUS weighs on me still some nights, but never in the morning when I'm able to roll over and go back to sleep.

My mind and my body thank me for this new habit on those days when the feeling of total renewal washes away the memory of not having any feeling left in my feet or legs after fourteen hours on my feet.

Rupert's morning walk has become a joy again, welcoming a new day by wandering down by Chincoteague Bay instead of rushing down the Island Trail to get the walk over before opening the store.  We take our time, refreshed by those extra hours of sleep and the sweetness of knowing we have all the time we need.

Gleaning

Webster's second definition for gleaning:  to collect or find out (facts, information, etc.) bit by bit.  That best describes what this past year on the island has been for me:  a year of gleaning.  I've been finding out what I really want to do, who's really important to me, who feels I'm important to them, and how my life is going to look in the year or so to come.  This has been both exciting and disheartening as I look forward to new adventures and leave old dreams behind.  But the gleaning was necessary.

With the gleaning came some deadheading, the plucking off of dead petals so new growth could take place.  Old habits, some old friends had to be left behind in order to let the positive energy flow in and take its rightful place in our lovely bookstore, where we wish to keep hope flourishing and smiles alive.  The energy is alive here and we've worked hard to make our community of peace and understanding, where no one who enters is judged or ridiculed by others, where all have a place to come rest and chat a moment.  We've tossed in a Board Game Night, a group of women who knit and chat, a writing group very much like the one I left behind that keeps me sane, play readings, poetry readings, and live music to keep the smiles alive.  We're selling books, too.  It's working.

While collecting information, I learned to listen to my own heart and trust my own instincts, that others had the right to their own opinion but that didn't make their opinion right.  We all need to remember that and not be so easily influenced by pundits, news reporters, friends and family.  There are always at least two sides to every situation.   You figure out those who live with truth and positive energy in their lives and when you wrap yourself around those folks, life gets good.  So much easier never to have to play games or tiptoe through the landmines others set up for themselves.  A musician friend of mine recently said, "It's better to run with scissors than walk on egg shells."  Oh yeah, I agree....take some risks, live your life, live truthfully, accept others for who and what they are, enjoy the ride, toss the negativity away.  Who needs it?

Yes, I'm Still Here

It's been awhile....we've been busy getting Book Hounds PLUS set up on the island and adjusting to island life. I was looking for posts I'd done on music because I was thinking of writing an article on how much we loved going to Sparky's for the Woodshed and I remembered how much I loved writing this blog...so why not do it again?

The summer tourists are flooding the island and the bookstore. We seem to be the few who love this. Some of the other merchants grumble...do they not understand who helps to pay their bills? We love to find out where folks are from, what they've been doing, etc.

A few days ago three folks came in who had lived in our house as young children. I gave them a tour of the store and of our apartment upstairs as they related stories of spying on people walking on the sidewalks to the Fireman's Carnival (we do that now, too) and how they had a grand piano where our cash register counter sits. It was a delightful trip down memory lane for them and I loved hearing their stories. This morning's mail brought a thank you card from one of the women.

This island is magical and we continue to enjoy it, even though the kayaks we bought sit in the back yard more than on the water. Maybe Monday we'll get a ride. That's MY kayak up on the car. Hubby's is lime green.

This weekend Melissa Clark, a musician friend from Hamilton, NY, is coming down and playing in the bookstore. We are looking forward to that.

Check back. I am hoping to write more here, let you know what it's like to run a used bookstore. It's really more fun than you can imagine, especially on this island of sun and salt.

Island Love Affair

No, I’ve not become infatuated with a local waterman, although it’s quite possible that some day I may be swept off my feet by one of these gentle men who call me “ma’am” in that delightful Southern accent. Their manners are impeccable, at least what I’ve seen in the bookstore so far. They have beautifully weathered faces, laugh easily, and I’ve certainly come to appreciate the difficult jobs they do. I’m waiting for the gentleman who recently purchased most of my Louis L’Amour paperbacks to bring me the fresh flounder he promised, another reason I may easily fall under their spell someday.

The love affair I’m telling you about today is between Rupert and Cheeka. Sadly, Rupert seems to have left any memory of his Northern love interest, MacKinley, far behind him. MacKinley is a large, white dog adopted by close friends who quickly became the alpha dog in the relationship, putting Rupert in his place at their first meeting. Something happened along the way, though, because Rupert, an extremely selective eater, became comfortable enough to devour MacKinley’s dog food whenever we visited our friends.

We met Cheeka and her owner on our morning walks on the Island Trail here on the Island, about the only place dogs are allowed. Rupert typically greets any other dog in a rather unfriendly manner. He believes the Island Trail is there for his use alone and he’s not one to welcome company. Cheeka is the kind of dog that Rupert usually barks determinedly at, the kind of dog we've referred to in the past as a “yippy” dog, because when Rupert would bark at such a dog, he’d get a “yippy” bark right back. Cheeka, however, is quiet and subdued. Her owner explained to us that she had been recently adopted and had come from a home where her previous owners were in the process of divorcing, a situation where a lot of “kicking and shoving” had gone on with Cheeka often caught in the middle.

Rupert would instantly transform into a gentleman at the sight of tiny Cheeka approaching us on the Island Trail. He would sit beside us, regarding her as we chatted with Cheeka’s owner, allowing her to pass with never a bark. After several days of this, Rupert would begin whining in excitement when he’d see Cheeka approaching, then start prancing, but would still sit again once she was beside us. Cheeka was not ready for him yet. Somehow he knew this.

This morning we were late going for our walk. We met Cheeka and her owner on the road to the Island Trail. We had to roll our car window down so Rupert could see Cheeka as the whine from the back seat was so loud we couldn’t hear. And as we were chatting with Cheeka’s owners, darling Cheeka put her paws on the side of our car, trying to reach Rupert, “Juliet” courting her “Romeo”.

I’m anxious to see what their next meeting brings.

Expectations

My father always told me I expected too much. He also told me, beginning at a very early age, that life wasn’t always fair, that the sooner I learned to accept that, the easier my life might be.

I’ve always struggled with this. That whole “do unto others as you’d have them do unto you” seems like a good way to live your life. If I want someone to respect me, I need to respect them. If I don’t want to be lied to, I don’t lie to others. If I want my back scratched, I scratch yours. It seems simple to me. It doesn’t feel as though I’m expecting too much. If I can do it, can’t others?

We are such a blip in the universe and take ourselves so seriously. I guess living here on this beautiful island surrounded by nature makes me realize how insignificant one human being is in the grand scheme of things. It’s quite clear to me that we are not in charge. Every time we visit the beach, more sand has shifted, more shoreline altered. Every walk we take with Rupert on the Island Trail, another tree has fallen.

A customer recently was chatting with us, sitting on the loveseat by the fireplace in the bookstore after making his purchase. “There’s a piece of the Canary Islands that’s going to break off and send a tsunami this way. All these lovely books are going to get wet. What will you do when the waves hit?” he asked.

And it took me back to my time as a Human Resources Director when I had a saying typed out and taped to my computer monitor that helped me keep my sanity those days. I can’t remember where the words came from; I know I read them somewhere. They were words I imagined my father could have said to me, words that always calmed me, made me realize I could alter my expectations to meet the reality of any situation. It was the perfect opportunity to quote them.

I said, “If you can’t stop the waves, you can always learn to surf.”