Half way through one of the longest months of the year here on the North west coast (why does this month have 31 days anyway, c’mon.) It has a penchant for being the dreariest out of the twelve. Here on Vancouver Island we get little if any snowfall, other than Mount Washington up island in Comox. But whenever we do get snow I’m a happy camper. It’s still novel for me. I was born in California. It brightens the landscape and the sun usually will shine with the crisp weather. And it begs you to go out in it and take a walk.
But we’ve been having an ongoing succession of dark, grey, rainy days and nights. And this month out of all is the one I steel myself against. It’s long, it’s dark, and there are no “occasions” to break it up. My antidote, to embrace this month of few distractions to allow myself to go deeper within, readjust, and redefine myself. Ideally.
And attempt not to overly engage in the crazy making going on in America. But it’s hard. I did a rare political scribble one night when the news of the coup seemed relentless.
I’ve been working through my fridge and freezer. So, not sure where that fits in. Paring down, cooking stuff off, and getting my eating habits back in line, I suppose that’s a kind of clearing out and organizing, and readjusting. Yesterday I made many jars of peach jams from fruit I had in my freezer that I brought back from Salmon Arm last summer. I made some chicken pot pies, I made several loaves of bread. I made some soups. It seems once I start working in the kitchen then that is my day. There was a time I did this everyday. For years it was my career. Now, I don’t feel so compelled. Cooking has taken on a more functionary role than creative. I eat well, I cook from scratch, and that’s about it.
My daily yoga practice gapped a bit as did my daily morning walks. True most mornings it has been pouring rain and I think to myself, I should get out there anyway; I’m sweet- but I’m not made of sugar, I won’t melt. Then I correct and think-I’ve got nothing to prove. And I’m not hard core enough to walk in pouring rain. I’ll walk later. But later it’s no longer “my space”, “my time;” walking in the half light of morning with no one else about. It’s a special time. So occasionally, if wasn’t raining, I walked in the half light of dusk, and that was fine.
I began work on another non-fiction short story to submit to the CBC competition; deadline end of February. I’m pulling up a sailing trip I crewed on back in the 90’s down the coast of Baja. Also still working on a creative historical non-fiction novel.
So I plunk along. I’m going to post my second story from the Protection Island Book today too. More for my own record on my blog site; stories are a commitment for a reader to invest their time in, it’s there for me.
I just checked my blog word count- how easy it is to clock out five hundred words in my blog than when I’m writing and working on my other projects. I set a goal to get down a thousand words down during a writing session. Sometimes I make it, sometimes over, most times I can barely squeeze out three hundred words in a three hour session.
No matter though, I love the process regardless. Write on!