Tag Archives: writing

No. 1

I have long enjoyed the book series by Alexander McCall Smith about Mma Ramotswe and her No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency.  I normally like a bit more intrigue and adventure in a book but the characters that Mr. Smith developed are irresistible.  They are so delightful that you could actually picture yourself knowing them or desiring to know them in real life.

My son contacted me about Mr. Smith’s upcoming talk at a Library near by. So, I signed myself and my husband up and invited us to eat dinner at my son’s house with the family.  I didn’t get nervous until we actually started to get in the car. I know, there is no need to be nervous at a talk and book signing. But I was.

I adorned myself in my map of Edinburgh scarf – since I knew he was connected to the University of Edinburgh and lived in that wonderful city – and imagined talking to him. I then decided just to buy the book and have him sign it and listen to his talk. Simple.

But, having our own trip to Scotland last year and very fresh in my head, when I handed him my newly purchased book I let out a speed talk that even marveled my mind. Something like this: “I’m wearing my Edinburgh scarf we were there for Christmas and New Years and even marched on Hogmanay and our son just got his Masters from the University-Edinburgh and blah, blah, blah”. He actually managed to follow my rambling and interjected comments. I was thrilled, especially to get to tell my son over there that Alexander McCall Smith congratulated him.

I got my breath back once I sat in my seat, thinking of how goofy that was and… he was wearing a kilt!

Anyway, what a delightfully funny and kind man. My husband and I laughed out loud totally taken into his stories. He is as delightful as the characters he created. Thank you, Alexander McCall Smith, cheers to you and your writings.

Here are some poorly taken photos (with my iphone and star-struck hands)…..

Alexander McCall Smith
the infamous scarf

Read his books and have a great day.

Cate B

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Freedom

I have posted this quote before.  I decided to “bleed” a little today.  It’s been a while. I have felt a bit dry, much like the summer heat in The Middle.

My dryness comes more from fear rather than the weather.  I have an irrational fear of failing.  Failing at what? How can pouring my heart out on paper be a failure?

This post is for all you people (including myself) who think daily of writing and don’t because of the same fear I have.

How can it be wrong to share with the world your thoughts when we live in an age that is so easy to be heard??

We all have something to say. Somebody out there will be touched by our words, by our thoughts.

It is a great feeling to pour out in printed words. Even to pour out in photos or songs – or whatever form of bleeding you can. It is cleansing. Freeing. Vulnerable. Healing.

There. I feel better. Thanks for letting me bleed a little.

Cate B

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The Pain of Writing

The title I came up with for this post is, well, I don’t know what it is. I was inspired by this image:

I haven’t posted in a while. Is it writer’s block? That would be a good excuse for me. Is it laziness? Another good excuse for me. Perhaps it’s a bit of rebelliousness or low self esteem, for me.

Whatever it is or has been…. so be it. I have no excuse for not posting. None. Zero. Zip.

I guess these words are me, sitting at my keyboard bleeding. A rather small cut or scrape this time but definitely blood.

And there you have it. I have now cleaned the wound of silence and bandaged it up until the next post when I will, hopefully, bleed out a little more.

Have a great day! Enjoy!

Cate B

Wordsmith

I love the word wordsmith.  There are some words in the english language that I just enjoy saying and wordsmith is one of them.

I never thought I was one until I read the Merriam-Webster Dictionary definition:

Definition of wordsmith

  1. :  a person who works with words; especially  :  a skillful writer

wordsmithery

play \-ˌsmi-thə-rē\noun

This word was first used in 1873 – a little word trivia for you.
A person who works with words…… I do that.
A skillful writer…….well, I like to think so.
Now that I’ve had a major transformation of my schedule and what I do in life I hope to become a better and more frequent…….. wait for it……… Wordsmith.
That just rolled off my tongue and through my fingers to you.
Have a great and wonder New Year Dear Readers!
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Enjoy!
Cate B

 

Dusty Dreams

There are about nineteen days left in 2016. I never make New Year resolutions, but I do always look forward to what may be in store for us/me in the upcoming new year.

Ever an adventurer……

My future at this point is rather swelling with fear  anticipation. Last Thursday was the last day of my son’s semester at University and that marked the last day of me caring for my three year old grand daughter. I have watched her pretty much full-time for the last three years and her sister, now in kindergarten, since shortly after she was born.

I have mixed emotions. More on the side of taking the dreams off the proverbial shelf and dusting them, throwing away some, creating new ones, OR curling up on the couch and watching NETFLIX for a while……. a long while.

I do love changes. They actually wake me up and make me feel more alive. But know, Dear Reader, that I am extremely human (as opposed to being simply human ??) and I am terrified of what I am to do.

I see this change in life as another adjustment. As a loss in some ways. The girls are only just over an hour up the road. I have already FaceTimed them twice. But I shall let this minor grieving time have it’s way in me and I know that I will see my future, my new roads and dreams more clearly as the days go by and as I finish up a series in NETFLIX.

My Grand Girls
Pioneer
Dream Big

Have a Great Holiday Season!

Cate B

 

Tell Me A Story

I love stories. I especially love stories told to me by the person who experienced it. I feel I’m invited into a part of them that normally may not come out in a conversation or a moment in their presence.

This happened to me this week. My husband and I went for a drive into the country and decided we would go t0 Lilac Lane Bulk Foods.

I love this store. It is owned and operated by an Amish family. Leonard is the young man you will find in the store most of the time. He is welcoming and friendly and laughs when I tell him something funny.

They have amazing prices on bulk foods from flours to spices and local honey. And when they have fresh baked cinnamon buns, well, let’s just say it’s all I can do not to buy them all and freeze them.

On cloudy days it can be a bit dim inside due to the fact that there are no electric lights. Just windows and I do believe a skylight. A wood burning furnace heats the store in the winter and you can hear the slight sound of a generator powering the small refrigerated section for eggs and cheeses.

This particular day had a sweetness to it. Leonard handed me a flyer to give to a friend of mine who was interested in visiting.

When I read his newsletter I read one of those stories. The warm kind we all have inside of us. A memory, the sweet kind. As I read I pictured vividly bits of his childhood and his home where he is now.

Here is what I read…..

“Have you ever wondered why we chose the name that we did for our store??? Well, when I was a boy, the small farm at Arthur, Illinois where I grew up had lots of old fashioned flowers and shrubs, including pink, lavender and white lilacs They had been there for a long time.

When my family made the move out here to Missouri, 15 years ago, I found it hard to leave the lilacs so I brought 10 cuttings along. Sadly only one survived and it si now doing well at my parent’s place where I planted it.

Five years ago, when visiting the old home place in Illinois, the owner gave me permission to take lilac clippings and so I gladly took 17 of them. This time, much to my surprise, they all survived!!! They are now all in a row bordering the driveway to the store; hence the name “Lilac Lane”….. “

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Isn’t it great to hear of his childhood and fondness for the flowers? And even more special was reading how he was able to bring them back and after perseverance bring them to life. A special memory of his childhood and for his children and eventually for theirs.

Everyone has a story. Those precious memories planted deep inside that pop up when a slight breeze blows or a fragrance of something wonderful drifts by. I know you’re thinking of your stories. I am thinking of mine.

Enjoy!

cate b

 

Inspiration

I came across this wonderful writer. Please enjoy this post by Sean Dietrich. An inspiration to me and I hope to you.

*please note this is copied from his website. I did not write or change anything.

I love the sun. Any time of day, but especially morning. I also like paper plates—the flimsy kind that aren’t stiff enough to hold a spoonful of potato salad. And barbecues. I like conversations at barbecues. Folks hardly ever talk about work, or bills. But about kids, sports, and how crazy Uncle John is. 

He’s nuts. 

I’m crazy about pencils, rickety screen doors, old folks, quiet folks, loud folks, zinnias, and mobile homes. I like the sound of wind blowing through the woods—like the earth exhaling. 

And coffee. 

I once spent an entire summer in Georgia with relatives who drank decaf. Worst summer of my life. I didn’t have the personality God gave a houseplant. 

And, I like yellow. As a boy, I preferred blue. But someone told me blue was depressing. So, I tried to like yellow. After several years, I can’t get enough of it. 

I like George Jones, Steel Magnolias, Delta Burke, and stories told by people with white hair. Girls who wear hunting boots. And boys who say, “Yes ma’am,” to girls their own age. 

I like tiny churches. 

I once knew a pastor of a microscopic Baptist congregation—a factory-worker by day. He wouldn’t accept a church paycheck. I remember one of his Wednesday services. After churchgoers passed the plate, his wife counted the money in the rear pew. mostly fives and tens. Then, she handed all the cash to a young mother with three children. 

I like standing ovations. Like the time an auditorium applauded a seventy-six-year-old school janitor about to retire. His name was Brill. You should’ve seen old Brill’s face. He never knew it was coming. 

I guess what I’m trying to say is: right now, the entire universe is only a few seconds away from bursting into applause. It’s going to be an explosion so brilliant it buckles your knees. And you’ll have to squint to keep from going blind. 

And such intense events make you think. About hope. About how lucky we are to have things like dogs, magnolia trees, paper plates, and summer. And it humbles you. 

And then you’ll realize: life is really something. God—who already knows this—busts the universe wide open just to prove this to you. He does it once every day.

If you don’t believe the goodness I’m telling you about is true, do yourself a favor: 

Wake up early. 

And watch the sunrise.

Sean Dietrich's photo.