this is what writing group weekends do for me

I woke up this morning from a detailed and wonderful dream in which I was in the barn, preparing for a huge thunderstorm that was on the horizon. The horses were refusing to come in, and I decided to take the opportunity to get stalls set up for their sojourn from the coming storm.

In the process, I stumbled onto the door of a storage room that we had (in the dream) never really gone into or attempted to clean out. It was filled with junk left behind by the previous owners. For some reason, even though a storm was coming, I was drawn to open the door and step inside. A sheet of tin fell forward as I walked through the doorway, and after heaving it out of my way, decided I may as well explore for a few minutes.

There was a lot of junk and not much room to walk. I spied at least three ironing boards with irons resting on top, mop buckets, and various tools and bins. I thought to myself that there could be treasure there, and the only way to find it would be to do a thorough clearing. Which I knew would have to wait, since I had to get back to the horses.

But before turning to leave the room, I realized there was an opening at the back that looked unusual. I struggled through the junk to get to it. It was an open doorway, which led to a huge barn kitchen. There was a beautiful sink, refrigerator, dishwasher, washer and dryer, and plenty of counter space, and I was in shock - the very idea that for five years I had wished for a barn kitchen and it had been right there all along!

Then I saw that the kitchen area led to yet more space: a large den/tack room which had sofas and a big TV for viewing video, and a smaller den which had a smaller TV which was actually turned on. I marveled as I discovered the TV was on a timer, and must have come on regularly for the past five years, set by the previous owner and left behind, and somehow we had never heard it.

There were windows in the smaller den, which overlooked the back field. The storm had moved by us, and the sun was shining, which meant I didn't need to get back to the stalls.

I turned back toward the kitchen and discovered a long hallway that stretched in the other direction, back toward our house. I followed the hall to find several beautiful bedrooms, nicely appointed, and I thought how wonderful it would be to tell my writing friend D. that she could have one of them, and that if I wanted, I could actually live in the barn!

Further along the hallway there was a small set of stairs that led to our house. A secret passageway from house to barn! I was elated and still stunned that all this had been right under our noses and we had never known it.

The next door down the hallway opened into a huge sunlit room with an indoor pool. The pool was full and clean and begging for swimmers. No wonder my husband had been complaining about high electricity bills! It wasn't the barn fans, or the lights we were leaving on. It was this entire wing of the house and barn, and the swimming pool pump!

At the end of the hallway was a big wooden door with a tremendous bolt. I wondered what might lie behind it, and why it would need such reinforcement. Curious, but not afraid, I opened it. It was a doorway to what was a combination of Weymouth (the place I go to for writing retreats) and the Biltmore Estate. I had my own private entrance to the best writing retreat in the world! And it was only a few strides down the hallway from my horses and donkeys and family - so easy to slip away and come back. I took a walk through the mansion to assure myself it was real, and then headed back to tell my entire family, as well as D., that I had found an absolute treasure - via the ignored and previously avoided junk room in our barn.

I doubt anyone needs me to interpret this dream. Give me a writing weekend, my creative family, good company, magical ponies,  the real magical ponies I live with, Corgis and cats, and a slight obsession with not being able to keep my house clean, and this is what happens.

Shove your way past the junk and what do you find: a secret paradise full of dreams come true.

loving and living the questions

I love the Rilke passage below, and have been saving it for a matching photograph that illustrated the idea. This morning I noticed my camera had made its way back into my bedroom, and took a look to see what pictures might be waiting inside. My daughter spent some time yesterday photographing, and this image she captured makes me think of the mysteries we all hold and seek answers to, and like the small opening to the sun in this photograph, we must wait for the clouds to shift to see the answer.

I love the idea of loving the questions themselves, rather than fretting the not knowing. 

 Have patience with everything

 unresolved in your heart and try to

 love the questions themselves, as if they

 were locked rooms, or books

 written in a very foreign language.

 Don't search for the answers,

 which could not be given to you

 now, because you would not be

 able to live them. And the point

 is to live everything. Live the

 questions now. Perhaps then, someday

 far in the future, you will gradually,

 without even noticing it, live

 your way into the answer.
 

 ~Rainer Maria Rilke

watching the grass grow

I think that's what we're all doing on November Hill these days. The horses and donkeys are all still eating their hay, but often enough I find them investigating green stuff coming up in various places. Yesterday I found numerous piles of manure in the paddock by the gate to the front field, which is off limits until June. A clue that I need to reinforce the gate in case certain ponies decide to shove through.

It's amazing how quickly the fields are greening up. The combination of regular rain and sunshine these past weeks is obviously a potent one for pasture.

Yesterday was like a domino run of little episodes that made the day seem like a game.

I was in the barn doing chores when I heard a tapping sound from inside the feed room. I thought it was my daughter, who is fond of sneaking up on me and making little noises. At some point it went on too long to be her, and I went to check it out. A small bird was building a nest inside my riding helmet!

In the afternoon Rafer Johnson joined my daughter in the arena for her second ride of the day, and he found the dressage whip lying on the ground. My daughter called out to me that he was using the whip to draw in the arena footing. Now we have a budding equine artist on our hands!

Overall, a fun day with the animals.

They're all in good spirits, and doing lots of marching about the back field. I've got the arena gates open on both sides so they can have a complete circular route, which gives them a bit more marching room with the front field off the rotation. It also makes riding time more interesting, with lots of possibilities for adding to the arena work.

Tomorrow we're getting a load of screenings so I can resurface Cody's stall. Once I get his finished, we'll open it up and then close down Keil Bay's stall so we can work on it. Stripping the stall, closing it off to the horses, and giving it chance to air out, dry out, and me the chance to get in and do some deeper wall cleaning, is a big chore but very satisfying.

And discovering a very local quarry with amazing prices ensures that I will be working on a number of barn projects I had put off  thinking a big load would be both unwieldy and expensive.

an alchemical weekend

My husband and I spent most of yesterday and on through the evening at Gerry's memorial service and a smaller celebration of his life afterward. I don't think I've ever attended such a moving memorial - the service was standing room only, with probably a thousand people in attendance. The smaller celebration (which in my mind was going to be more intimate) had around 200 people. 

Gerry's family were amazing people, who all spoke beautifully at the service and then stood for nearly two hours receiving all the friends who had come to honor him. It was easy to see where Gerry got his gift of friendship - his parents, brothers, and extended family were gracious and made each person feel honored to be there. Gerry's wife Mandy was a pillar of strength who did the same thing.

And the celebration afterward had music, beer, barbecue, a revolving slide show of photos, mementos everywhere, a wall to write on, a room for friends to tell stories on videotape, and an amazing group of people all completely open to talking about Gerry, about how his death has moved them, and about how they intend to move on with their lives.

It was about Gerry - and yet it was also about every single one of his friends and family. I don't think anyone could have made that happen had they tried - Gerry's gift in life is also his gift in death. Nothing was ever only about him - he engaged with everyone he met on a deep and genuine level, and that was what the celebration was all about.

Last night I dreamed all night long, dreams full of people and conversation and situations. Each time I woke up (I think I woke up twice during the night and many times this morning) I fell back asleep only to dream again, and again. I think my brain was trying to process all the energy from yesterday, clearing it out of my head.

Today was different and yet the perfect partner to yesterday.

We cleared beds, we burned cuttings and yard debris. We stripped a stall and removed mats and cleared the surface beneath. The day rolled on with work and a few breaks and tonight I think I will sleep soundly. I'm exhausted. But in a good way.

There was something about yesterday that felt like the alchemical process: transforming tragedy into gold. As today's burning and clearing has felt like a process of purification, cleansing, and readying for spring. It's almost too big to write about - one of those passages of time that is so full, you can only live through it, absorb every bit of it you can absorb, and trust that the experience will ripple out through the rest of your life, something important and relevant and sacred.

Thanks, Gerry, for leaving us with so much.

gray afternoon thinking of novels in progress and songs that tell stories