What Startles

Settled comfortably in the study, we chose a Netflix children's film, turned off the lights, and started watching our British movie. A time-travel narrative during World War II on a beautiful estate with mysterious atmosphere.

One of them, on seeing the slow appearance of a ghost child in a movie, let out the longest-loudest-mostpiercing scream I had ever witnessed and the other covered her face leaving only the widest-open eyes I've ever seen visible.

Why was that scary? I asked when I could collect myself.

Ghost girls always frighten me, the 11-year-old answered.

Do you believe in ghosts?

I believe in reincarnation, he replied.

I don't, the 9-year-old said, and I wasn't scared.

Then why did you cover your face and unpeel your eyes so they looked like saucers? I asked.

Because his scream scared me, she said.

It gave me a headache, I said.

However, 15 minutes later, I started laughing so hard that my diaphragm constricted, and it really hurt, and I couldn't stop, and they started laughing too, and then we all laughed. Finally, we talked about Munch's scream, and all of us imitated it, and we kept laughing and laughing and laughing.

A little later, he and I walked into the kitchen.

When I saw this in the window above the sink, I started. He exclaimed, Wow! What is that? I didn't know, till I turned around and saw that I had left the light on in the little washing machine pantry. The window reflected the light leak. You should blog about that! he added.

And so I have.

Gratitude Before Departure

One last snap, on the road again, and delivery to their mother,

new wheels and all.

Light Landing

A day in the car, to and from North Carolina, to pick up two Greats for a visit.

The journey ended with this.

Home again, with children and Skipper.

 Life is good.

Another Opening, Another Show

Ballet with the Greats dancing followed by a dinner/movie date (Miss Dots fried chicken [but the collard greens win the day] and the movie Hachi [a throat-catching film about loyalty and love]) with the nephew and two Greats (one human, one canine).

For some it might seem tutu much of a good thing, but not for me.

Home is where the heart always is, and that home is filled with it.

Under the Stack of Unopened Mail

I found this gem from Christmas. I had forgotten these -- one handed to me on arrival by the writer, the other I discovered in the guest room.

The youngest of the four Greats, like one of the other great-nieces, uses writing for real purposes, and as always, when the writing is real because the writer cares, the reader does too.

I freely admit that I teared up.

Again.

To answer her question, I'd say this: I slept there in love.

The Blues Before Leaving

Before

Christmas Eve 

visit to my niece's new studio

rain and water

first gifts: 

what's most beautiful

is as it is.

One Big Blur

Fast trip to see two of The Greats, their parents, and their dog, four out of the five performing in The Mutt-cracker and the fifth heading the backstage sewing crew. Like Christmas lights, it's all good, even if total face time amounts to fewer than eight hours.

The lasting impression is always memorable.

Reading and Writing

The Greats and I love books and their neighborhood library, where we went on an expedition. One returned four books, one five. One checked out three books, the other three.

The youngest settled onto a bench in the children's section and said, "I want to stay here and read."

The other said, "No, not today," so off we went.

One stayed home, and the other came with me for a treat at the local coffee shop. After chai tea and a milk frosty (from which I had to eat the whipped cream because the Great said, "It's gross"), she took me upstairs where I had not been.

At the top of the steps, she said, "Isn't it cool?" The man settled in an armchair looked up from his paper and smiled, but the two students cramming for exams did not.

"Shh," I said, "this is the quiet spot."

We agreed it would be a cool place to read.

On the way home, I asked, "What's the best part of third grade?"

"Cursive," she said, and she was serious.

When we got home, she proved it.

These are things we love: books (all three of us), reading (all three of us), writing (two of us), and the people who write the books we love (all three us).

Drafting Frenzy

A friend recently said, "You always get so worked up over your Christmas books, Robley."

Well, maybe.

But the thing is that my process of writing requires a l-o-n-g time for thinking before I even start my "zero draft," the mess from which I hope to make something worth giving. Then, suddenly, I feel a shift and everything pours out like the all-day rain falling here today. Add to this the book designing and making, and yes sometimes I work myself into a swivet (the good kind -- the I-am-doing-something-interesting-that-I've-never-done-before-swirl-of-creation swivet.)

Finally, I had to learn a new online program to make the book. Only after I had created three solid working drafts did I even figure out how to unlink text blocks.

After many proofreading/editing sessions (mine and two friends') I gave the command to print this afternoon. This is it!

it's blurred because it's still a secret

Bring on Christmas and the Greats!