Ah, the color of memories.
Remember the warm rosy glow of those lingering Summer twilights?
Well, there’s a new ray of light in town.
Last weekend I bundled up and bustled out to the local stately mansion (the deserted old manor house of the renowned American man of lettres, William Cullen Bryant) to catch the very last gasp of Autumn.
Instead of a warm rosey glow, there was only a wan pearly greyness. The color that flooded the eyes didn’t come from the light:
I need this infusion o fjoie to my vivre. I’ve had one of those weeks. The kind of week when you have a small package that you need to take to the post office on Monday, and it takes you until Thursday to get there.
It’s been one of those weeks when the news is even more depressing than usual. The cops raided Occupy Wall Street in the middle off the night and trashed the whole enterprise, including the OWS Library. What a dick move, NYPD.
It’s been the week that I noticed that the Japanese Dogwood tree in the backyard was hitting its peak Fall leafage. It looked so very beautiful in the bright 7:15 AM (dawn) light! I told Top Cat that this makes it worth putting up with a Japanese Dogwood. (Because from late August to early October the thing drops tons of huge red berries that ferment on the patio. Very messy.)
And then it rained on Wednesday, the kind of November rain that wipes out the peak Fall leafage all around the world.
Good-bye, Fall of 2011.
We hardly knew ye.
One thing that made me laugh this week was something I came across when I was researching a press release that I was writing for someone in or around the Diocese of La Crosse, Wisconsin. Here’s what’s so interesting about the Diocese of La Crosse: it comprises 177 diocesan priests incardinated in the diocese, 15 priests belonging to various religious orders, 21 seminarians currently studying to enter the priesthood, four religious brothers, 31 permanent deacons, five hermits, and three consecrated virgins.
I’m also all a-dither because these days I’m in the least validating phase of a writer’s life. My new book has been finalized (the cover is beautiful and I’ll show it to you next week) and is now totally out of my hands, which strips me of a Work In Progress. By my definition, a WIP is the book that you have convinced an editor is worth her publishing house’s time and money…and I have not yet got that go-ahead from my dear Ed. for my Rain Book jottings.
Not having a WIP makes me feel like a red-headed step child. And I should know how that feels. Because I actually was a red-headed step child.
I didn’t like it.
The only thing that cheers me up is knowing that I’ll be painting lots of kitty cats soon, as soon as those proofs of purchase of When Wanderers Cease to Roam from your local independent book store start rolling in. (If you, dear reader, are mystified by all this, please scroll down on this blog to read my Special Announcement of November 16.)
And Yo! Nashville!
I hope your week was better than mine, and if not I definitely want to hear about it. Misery, Company, Love…you know how it goes.