На пороге лета

The Edge of Summer

Источник: https://barbaraoneal.substack.com/p/the-edge-of-summer

I haven’t posted a Substack in a while, for a few reasons. The truth is, sometimes the words need to flow into the book, and that’s where they are going at the moment: into the current book, which is messy and challenging and engrossing.

It is also nearly summer, which means much of my time is going into my gardens and plants. I’ve planted a zillion dahlias, and to my still-amazed Colorado-native self, many reappeared after the winter. Shocking! Amazing! I might have to give up on fig trees entirely, since they are not thriving here, either.

And the world, people, the world! So much has been corrupted, twisted, ruined, and dismantled over the past two years that only the most devoted of wonks could keep track. I have been tempted to make lists, but…what would that help? I’m not a politician or a thought leader or an influencer, and not even those people seem able to shift the narrative these days.

Writing is my task and my gift and my delight in this life, so that’s where I’ll spend my time. A Thousand Painted Hours is out in two months, August 11, and I’m very excited to complete the circle and get it into readers’ hands. I’ve made postcards, an original work of collage love, which took me way longer than it should have. I went through many iterations before I went back to the one I had planted in my sketchbook while I was writing the book. See them side by side, below.

(To have a chance to win the framed original (not the one in the sketchbook—sorry that’s mine), you can pre-order a signed copy only from Author Author.)

Another thing happening here: I’m taking my 14-year-old granddaughter to Japan in a couple of weeks. We’ve been planning the trip for over two years, since I challenged her to find a sport she liked and give each one a season. She’s a girl who needs a lot of exercise, and I hoped she might find something she really loved. This has not exactly been the case—she’s cycled through cross-country, track, volleyball, and now pickleball, but none have stuck. She might not like organized sports. I don’t. At least she tried.

The point is, she tried, and the reward is traveling somewhere she wanted to visit. Japan is heavily in the teen imagination at the moment—manga and sushi and certain styles of makeup and dress—but our original interest came from an island of cats, because we both really love cats. Instead, we will likely hit a cat cafe or two, but spend time doing many other things, too, including a forest picnic and a trip to Kyoto.

The planning and the packing conundrums and trying to learn enough Japanese to be polite, and also not get glutened, have consumed a lot of my energy. I’m also sometimes engulfed by anticipation—both the excitement/nervousness of exploring a new place and the delirious pleasure of having my grandchild to myself for two whole weeks.

Grandchild and me, some years ago Now the sun is creeping over the horizon. I had a deep, restorative sleep last night and am eager to return to the world of this book, where there are maps and islands and broken-hearted lovers, and the lure of big waves, and families trying to heal. I suspect there is a hard, sad truth at the center that hasn’t arrived yet, because I keep seeing hints, but the Girls in the Basement don’t always let me in on that kind of thing until they deem me ready.

Tell me, friends, what’s on your mind today?