In the Time of Love and Corona

I caved and bought the complete “Murder, She Wrote” series on Amazon, and the four-movie set on ebay. When in times of great stress, I turn on the easy-watching T.V. shows. In the end, you know the mystery will be solved. Or in the case of The Dick Van Dyke Show, that no matter what shenanigans Rob and Laura get up to, no matter what fights they get into, they are going to be ok.

The real champion of soothing television right now is The Repair Shop. It’s so pleasant. Nobody is mean. People have beloved treasures and skilled artisans lovingly restore them. The people bring in their ancient teddy bear, Victrola, sled, you name it. They bring it. They leave it, a little worried usually, in the hands of The Repair Shop. Then they come back and get the unveiling of their restored family treasure. It’s perfect T.V. for such a stressful time.

One thing I wonder is how single people who are falling in love are faring in their mostly virtual worlds.

I wonder how marital partners who were having some trouble before all of this are faring. Healing? Growing further apart?

I have seen a lot of gardens growing, home renovations, and side-projects pop up all over my friend’s feeds.

What are you growing? What are you letting go of?

Juicy Peach

“They had apples. Honeycrisp. Some other kind, too…I forget what–well, they’re all new apples.”

I smiled. “Thanks.” It was the closest I would get to the market that day. I love choosing my fruit and veggies from the farmers who grew them. The dried mud on a mound of small potatoes, flaking off around the little crate that contained them. The weight of a fat tomato in my hand. The smell of a bundle of herbs. Feeling like a Duchess as I peer at each package, choosing which would serve me best. But I wasn’t feeling my best that day, so he went alone. He delivered, though–Honeycrisp is my favorite. Pink Lady, second.

“I got some peaches, too.”

“Ohhhh.” I tiptoed to the kitchen to peer inside the bag. There they were, three perfect peaches.

I selected my favorite, though they all looked lovely. I turned around and let water run over it, washing the fuzzy skin gently. I gave her a little rub with the dishtowel on the counter, to dry her off. I put the fruit to my nose and inhaled, to my satisfaction it was delightfully fragrant. I bit into the fruit, grabbing  a paper towel to catch the juices. Sweet, wet, divine–the last taste of summer.

“This peach is perfect. Come have a bite.”

He poked his head into the hallway, peering at me standing near the sink. Eyebrows up, “Well, alright.”

I watched him take the four paces to me. His light brown hair in want of a trim. His green tee making his eyes more green than ever. His eyes are magic that way, pulling green, light brown, or hazel–depending on the shirt.

I held the peach up, about breast high. He stood in front of me for a beat and looked at the peach, put both of his hands around my hand, cupping it from beneath and raised the peach to his mouth. He looked me in the eye as he bit into the flesh, I was transfixed. Any words that had begun their journey to my mouth were halted in their tracks as I watched him take another bite, his eyes locked with mine. Juice running down our hands. I forgot the paper towel in my other hand. I forgot that I could look away, if I wanted to.

He released my hand, smiled and chewed, still looking me in the eyes. I felt a chain of electrical tingles run down my spine, then back up again. He made a sound that indicated the peach was, indeed, as perfect as reported. He then turned and walked back into the bedroom to sort books, and fold laundry. I enjoyed watching the back of him as he went. I stared at the space where he stood as I finished the peach in four bites, then made my way to the bedroom as well.

The Choice You Make – Sensual Sunday

I don’t know if I would undo it if I could. Your shirts are here. And your toothbrush with the fancy nubby side. I actually folded socks today (not my specialty). They weren’t mine. That’s how you know I care.

When you lift your head and put your feet on the cold hard floor, I swoop in and grab your favorite pillow, hook my arm around it and pull it in tight. I watch your naked back bend forward, the valley of your spine is perfect and I reach out and run a finger down.

You wipe the sleep and look over your shoulder, peeking through a mop of messy hair.

“I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Me too.”

It doesn’t matter who said which, because we trade off these sentences, depending on what day it is.

I don’t know what force on this earth got to decide what love is or how it manifests, but I know what it is for me. Love is in the Don McLean song that crackles out the same line every morning, “The auctioneer saaaaaaaaid, I’m not through yet…” from your alarm clock. Love is around the edges of your iris, where light brown gives way to hazel. Love is in scrambled eggs and toast next to the window, on a single plate with two forks.

“I like ketchup on mine, do you?”

And now, even after what happened, we’re still here and maybe a little less sorry about it than the two years that followed, because love can also be an opportunity to choose somebody every day. We keep making that choice. I can’t undo it, so I will take solace in this.

 

 

Summer 1981

I miss waiting for “The Wizard of Oz” to come on once or twice a year. I miss the lead up to the end of the school year and the phenomenon of the summer blockbuster. I miss not understanding about bills and politics. I miss jump-rope and jacks and creeks with smooth stones. I miss that first kiss feeling, when you weren’t even sure how kissing worked. I miss grape soda and skinned knees, tire swings and climbing trees. I miss swimming all day for weeks in a row. I miss the coolness of a desert night, sitting in a concrete pipe with a friend talking about everything, after the rest of the neighborhood had gone to sleep.

How Love Grows

The tenderness that comes from the mercies we grant, and the pain we bear, and the wounds we salve, will make us more bonded for the trouble.

Sensual Sunday – Ordinary Things

Half a glass of garnet colored wine on a sunlit table.

Childhood photos; blues fading leaving yellow to paint a thousand words.

Piles of chocolate chips collapsing softly into a rich molten puddle.

Freshly laundered sheets– snapping them open and stretching taught over the mattress.

The drape of a bias cut silk dress on a beautiful woman.

The smell of woodsmoke in my hair.

Steam rising from the roadway pavement after a cool summer rain.

Strawberry decorations on vintage juice glasses.

The way a diagonally cut sandwich triangle fits nicely in our hand and the satisfying first bite on the edge of the center of the longest plane.

The satisfying click of an pen lid snapping into place.

Glass marbles in a jar.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sensual Sunday

I love doing themes!  Particularly those with alliteration – like Wonderful Word Wednesday.  It’s motivating and inspires me to push myself a bit.  I want to try Sensual Sunday posts.  Essentially, I’ll post about something sensual– that is to say, anything pleasurable.  Most will likely have an erotic bent to them.

Inaugural SS – enjoy.

***

The smell of coffee on a lazy morning.  I watch as he stands naked in the kitchen, making the brew.  Sunlight pours in the large window, highlighting hipbones, collarbones, knees and shoulders.  The soft down on the back of his neck, where it is warm and a good place to kiss, tickles my nose as I nuzzle, eyes closed.  He smells of spicy conditioner and cotton pillowcases.

He sets the heavy mug down, making a soft thud when it connects with the counter.  He turns and I can see he is ready to return to bed, not to sleep.  His hands hold my face as he bends to meet my mouth with his. We breathe each other in for a moment.  Without a word, his hand slides down my arm, clasps my hand and leads me to his bed.

❤

 

Heartstrings

Do you ever find yourself on the cusp of a feeling and you try to use music to intensify that feeling?

Maybe it’s somewhat silly to even post because people use music to evoke feeling all the time.  For weddings, you’ll find love songs and joyful tunes.  If you’re angry and want to rage against the machine you can, well, listen to Rage Against the Machine.  Of course there is the ever-popular post breakup wallow.

But I’m not really talking about those sorts of things.  I’m talking about finding a feeling.  You feel something welling up in you, but you aren’t certain what it is.  Is it that you’re about to be sad?  Or maybe you’re just feeling particularly loving?

I have restless music days.  Days where I change the channel on Spotify or switch to Songza or Pandora, searching.  What melody, what lyrics, what genre is going to vibrate the correct heartstrings?  It’s like having one of those itches that you scratch, but it moves.  You keep chasing it, but you still have the sensation of the itch, just beneath your skin.

When I find the right music the restlessness settles.  My soul tunes in and I tend to get stuck on it for days.  Looping a limited playlist or even listening to the same song several times in one day.  Sometimes in a row.  The itch is scratched and I use the feelings to make something.

What I Learned from You

What I Learned From You

that strawberries and basil actually go well together
and i will never eat them

that some flowery scents can smell sweet
and then sour

that some people can seem sweet
and then bitter

and some people will be mad at you for believing their lies

and make you the villain in their story

so they don’t have to own any blame

Song List for Writing Werewolves

Today I am writing on the second book of the Red August series and behind me, my lover is editing the first book. It’s nice when he’s here I can work at my desk writing, and he can sit behind me at the table, writing.

We have officially reached workaholic status, though.  All day yesterday I was making artwork for my store website (which is set to launch May1).  Last week I split my time between writing, making items for my online store and making a Cafepress shop.  Which is still very much NOT DONE.  But off to a good little start.

Anyway, at first I was playing a music list with no lyrics.  Then I ended up putting on my Fairytale Writing Mix – Red August which is on Spotify.  You can follow it, if you like and you use Spotify – I am under “Heather Brooks.”

I take several approaches to listening to music while writing.  If I’m in an easily distracted mood I will put on instrumentals.  I have a list that is almost all instrumental called Myth, Magic, Faeries & Mermaids.  I may even just listen to coffee shop sounds on Coffitivity.  Other times I like having some music with lyrics happening – and usually it’s because I want something that gives me the atmosphere of what I’m writing.  In the case of Red August I made a list that has a lot of sexy, ethereal stuff on it.  Also, since the book is set in the early 1980s, I listened to some of the stuff around then.  Retrojam is good for that.

So, here are probably my top five favorites (in no particular order) from my Fairytale Writing Mix – Red August:

– Howl – Florence + The Machine
– Exiles (The Wolves of Midwinter) – Mary Fahl– Born to Die – Lana Del Rey
– Ride – Lana Del Rey
– My Immortal – Evanescence

If you have suggestions for good songs that fit the haunted, werewolf, wolf, hunter, huntress, archery theme, please leave me a comment!