a little housekeeping music

You'll remember I decided to delete the blog, and then I didn't. le sigh. I felt a little like Tom Sawyer, faking his death, attending his funeral. I have such a  love/hate relationship with social networking. It's not you. It's me. I'm working on it.

To that end, I've made some changes. Tomorrow I get back into book 2 of the '60s trilogy, just in time for a family gathering over the weekend and all next week in Charleston. You'll remember we go to Charleston every September, in time for hurricane season. Maybe you'll do the photo challenge with me this year -- more to come about that.

So I'll catch you up with book two tomorrow. In the meantime, click through (if you're not there already) to the blog to see the new look! New title: Field Notes. New design. New sidebar material, including a list of current reading and listening, as well as books/music/dvds I'm using or have used for research -- I created an amazon store so you could see them, too.

Full disclosure: As an affiliate, I receive a tiny portion of sales that click through from my blog or amazon store. I'm not looking for sales; I get most of my books from my local library, through inter-library loan, or from abebooks (I *love* ILL and abebooks), and you'll see that I recommend you do the same. I often start at amazon in order to read reviews and get more information before I head to my library's website. I just want these resources collected in a readily available, informational place for me, and I want to share them with you.

I was going to switch the blog to WordPress -- my Web Goddess Allison had me all set up. But I've decided to stay here on blogger for now. It's easier for me and I like the openness of the look for now -- what do you think? At some point I want to integrate the old 2007 tour blog with this one. When I started a new blog, I didn't understand I could have just kept going with the old one. Live and learn.

I've got a welcome note on the newly-designed blog as well (is this all as clear as mud?)... it better describes what I want the blog to be about, and what I'm all about these days, so maybe that will help me be as honest as I can be, and stick to what's really important to me -- the stories. 

Also created a facebook author page. (I know, Annie, I know. Now you must resume your presidential duties.) I deleted the old one. It had oodles of fans. Now there are five. We'll begin again.  Maybe. oy.

If you visit my website (which is a WordPress site) you'll also see it's had a little refresh, too. I do like it, although at times, when I think about it too much, it also feels loud to me, compared to the very understated look I had before. What do you think? I really want to know. Again.

We're just back from Hayesville, N.C. where Jim played a gig with some musician friends over the weekend. Great good fun. I have no brain cells left with which to be scintillating or even make sense. So here ya go. Some housekeeping, and some photos and (always) a little music when one can't think straight. Thanks, y'all. More anon!
The women's acappella group is the Atlanta-based "Cheaper Than Therapy." They're terrific. They were joined after intermission by Mike Whitney on the guitar, and mine truly Jim Pearce on piano and vocals.

Here's "Bad News From Outer Space," written by Mike Whitney and performed (in the silliest, loosest definition) by everyone.

I was a very good groupie. I need a some of that Bad News From Outer Space to suck up all the unnecessary stuff in my house this week. Comp'ny arrives on Sunday.

I've also decided to start wearing my tiara. Again. More on that later, too.
Happy End of Summer, y'all. xoxoxo


Taking a breath on Sunday with a hot-weather midday meal. Scrounging for whatever salad makings are left.
Scoring the last of the bleu cheese. Lots of corn nuts.
Finding a recipe for quinoa burgers that uses what I have on the shelves. (I added extra cheese and carrots and flax seeds.)  No writing today. On tap for the afternoon: organizing the sewing room, tossing clean laundry onto the red couch as it comes out of the dryer, a hike and watermelon with friends at Tucker Falls, a Sunday shower, then the baby blanket I'm crocheting for an almost-here baby along with watching Masterpiece Mystery with Cousin Carol, who lives in Mississippi. We watch at the same time and text our opinions along the way. "Eyebrows!" "It's the butler!" "I'm so confused!"
Ain't we all, sometimes, ain't we all.  Glad we keep at it, though, wading through the muck toward understanding.

Tomorrow: that pesky chapter three. Again, again, again. I'd love to hear what you're wading through right now, the grime and the glory alike.

goodbye to miss daisy

I donated Miss Daisy today. Thirteen years (with me; I got her when she was four), 217,000 miles, so many long drives to schools and conferences and bookstores and soccer games and vacation destinations and camping and canoeing trips and family trips to Mississippi and back, so many sheltering rides in good times and bad, and all the times inbetween.

Thank you, Miss Daisy. It was so hard to let you go. At first I couldn't watch -- I came back inside. I burst into tears. I grabbed my camera. I could at least stand watch as you left, wave goodbye one last time, blow kisses, tell you it would be all right, and honor your passing.

I let go the last piece of my old life when you wagged down the road away from me. Maybe that's what the tears are for. You will be just fine. May you teach some young folks how to refurbish a grand old dame. May you find a home with someone who really needs you, the way I really needed you, lo these many years.

Go gently, old girl. All is well.

a morning's work

An epiphany about one of my star characters in book two of the sixties trilogy! A good early-morning writing session. Then I turned to the leftover beans and rice, and here's what came of that.
 Just slipped 'em in the oven. I used the recipe from here, but adapted it.

 Already dealt with the blackberries:

Now to do something about the peaches.  And that watermelon.
And chapter three.
I like being home.