Aside from the Hollie Cook show, which still tumbles through my brain in songs that I cannot shake, I’ve been indulging in some vintage 1970s melodies, especially “Black Water” by The Doobie Brothers. Somehow that song evokes the autumn which attempts to make its point here in California. The evenings are cooler, as are the mornings. Darkness pervades my waking hours, sunshine casting long shadows, trees finally dropping their leaves. The end of the World Series is nigh (Oh please let it be tonight!), Halloween is days away, November knocking on the door. Listening to The Doobie Brothers reminds me of the past, which at this time of year is still tied to National Novel Writing Month, although I won’t be participating for the second straight year. NaNoWriMo came into my life just as we were saying goodbye to England, but as leaving Yorkshire taught me, not everything last forever.
But the writing continues; daily I’ve been reading a couple of chapters of The Hawk, enjoying it immensely. My husband asked if I read for pleasure, or with a critical eye. I laughed; I always read my own stuff in a discerning manner, but the revisions aren’t heavy, mostly because these relatively early chapters have been read a number of times. Yet even as I read, and occasionally alter, the prose, I’m reminded of how much I enjoy this story, which makes me ache to get back to the writing, even if my time is squeezed beyond belief.
Which some might say is all the reason needed to jump into the NaNo pond to pound out another 50,000 (or more) words, regardless of all that looms. But no longer am I that sort of writer, which is a lot to admit. But it’s not 1974 anymore, it’s (gasp) forty years later. Jeez!! Four decades since “Black Water” was a hit, and now I’m a fan of tropical pop. “Milk and Honey”, by Ms. Cook, has been making me sway around the kitchen, or tapping my feet as I iron fabrics. I’m cutting what will be my goddaughter’s Christmas present, but not in reds and greens. Perhaps hues more for an island, in warm blues, aquas, and a tad of periwinkle. Not colours I often use, but I sure like them, and they blend well with my latest fascination with reggae.
Life is a journey, taking us to new and exciting places, with intriguing songs and fabric shades that don’t remain static. About the only thing right now I’d like to remain the same is the Giants’ hold on the even-numbered years’ World Series victories. We’re one game away from continuing in that vein, which to my liking could stay as a constant, although I’m sure other baseball fans wouldn’t agree.
Not sure what Buttercup thinks; if it meant more belly rubs for her, she’d be all over San Francisco taking tonight’s game. In Buttercup’s world, there is little room for evolution, but my realm isn’t that of a beagle/basset. It’s words and music and cotton, baseball and family and whatever lies ahead. Revisiting the past is unavoidable, in music and memories, hopes and dreams. But some pieces were only for that time, those moments. I’d *LOVE* to dwell on the 49ers’ glory years, and seeing shots of Joe Montana at AT&T Park was a pleasure. However, it’s 2014, ages away from the 1980s, and even a good stretch from when I began writing. Now I quilt, whoa! And my heart is firmly stolen by a different Bay Area sports team, whether I want it to be or not. I can’t help rooting for the Giants, what I do right here and right now.
As I age, I need to keep moving forward. I don’t know if abundant technology assists in that endeavor, or tropical pop. And I wonder if my long-passed away relatives felt so inclined. Is my generation better equipped to seize the future? I’d love to ask those grandparents, aunts and uncles, but that’s impossible. I should have done it years ago, but years ago I didn’t consider these queries. I was too busy being young.
I’m not so young anymore, although not as old as Ms. Buttercup, who at somewhat over seven is a tad older than me. But again, she doesn’t care what happens, as long as there is food and water in her bowls, walks when her folks get home, and much attention paid to her exposed belly. But then Buttercup doesn’t know the joy of tropical pop, she can’t reminisce about “Black Water”, and she certainly won’t experience the thrill of one’s team winning the World Series (Oh please let the Giants win tonight!). She’s content to lie on her rug as people croon her name, snapping pictures of her, then scratching her belly. No time for writing, quilting or any other such nonsense in her world, thank you very much.
And certainly not a free moment for such introspection. But occasionally a free moment should be turned just a wee bit inward, if only to acknowledge the change, be it in the weather, the writing, the quilting fabrics. Life never stops changing, and it’s good to grasp those alterations, especially when they are pleasant. Sometimes they’re not so warm and fuzzy, but we can’t look from those either. Before tonight’s baseball I need to clean (ugg), perhaps cut more aqua fabric, definitely get to the store. No writing, maybe some sewing, then loads of hand-wringing as my beloved Giants go to bat. I’m sure some Hollie Cook will waft from speakers, either at my PC or in the living room from the turntable. It’s just another day, 28 October, 2014. It’s also the only 28 October 2014 any of us will ever see. May this day bring plenty of joy your way (unless, of course, you’re a Kansas City fan).