The Phoenix: Epicuriousmothering Rising

  Just like this little bee getting getting all sorts of good pollen from this tiny flower, I'm fining courage all over the place . . .often in the most unlikely places  So one of my friends in my writing group sent me a little re-write of Jane Austin's Pride and Prejudice -- from Darcey's point of view.   She also sent the original chapter she was writing POV (point of view) off of so we could compare.  I thought I downloaded her chapter and happily began editing, marveling at how well she captured Jane Austin's voice.  But she had some places she could tighten and a few sentence that were confusing and needed to name the speaker or protagonist.  It wasn't until I was nearly done with the chapter that I discovered I had been editing the original.   I had been editing Jane Austin's  Pride and Prejudice . I sat back and laughed until my sides hurt and then got up and did a jig. You may wonder if I had lost my marbles?  The answer is probably . . . but also, I edi

It's been a year.   I'll sum it up by saying that food no longer tastes good to me.   The last time that happened, I had lost three pregnancies in a row and John had lost and found a job and we had moved three times. The feeling is very similar.   There have a been a lot of losses or near losses.  Enough that when the phone pings with a text or vibrates with a call (I long ago turned off the ringer), I take a deep breath and think, you can do this .  More times than not, I need that deep breath. I am probably in the second half of my life and I feel it.  47.  My children are nearly grown.  My house is established.  Our bank accounts don't fluctuate like they used to. I don't go to the store and dream of being able to buy things.  I walk into my closet and wonder what I can do without.   I feel the finality of my existence and I wonder . . . what do I really want out of all this?   For book club, we read A Million Miles in a Thousand Years .  It's about re-writing o

Faith.  Publishing, starting a business, growing a garden . . .it takes a lot of hard work and FAITH The lyrics of that song have been running through my head all weekend and if you could see my face, I am living it.  What have I done?   I've done something I am not prepared for, I have little/no experience, and I have grave doubts about my ability to see it through . . . eek! Sounds like having a baby doesn't it?   But no, I did not do that.  My children are now doing that (and holy hannah, are they producing winners!). What I did was finally publish my Master's Thesis (that I defended seventeen years ago), in preparation for publishing the trilogy I've been working on for the last four years. It's my first baby and I loved it and I'm so proud of it-- The Confusing and Miraculous Life of Kate James .  And my other three?  Well they are three stand alone books about three different generations.  There's a little drama, a little mystery, a little magic, and a

I have always said, “life and death” but never “death and life” until my mother died.  Now, I think of it in this order—death and life.   I did not want to be there when she died.  I thought it would be so hard and so painful and maybe too much for me to deal with.  But it wasn’t.  It was beautiful, sweet, and almost too easy.  One minute she was taking slow, breaths and the next . . .never came.  She slipped away from us but it didn’t even feel like she was gone.  Her shell, her body, wasn’t working, but her . . .my mother she was with us.  She was free from all the hard—and she’d had a hard life full of health challenges.  It felt joyful.  I know this cannot always be the case, but for her, I imagined her flying around us, young, healthy, strong, emotionally whole, and full of the truth that she had lived this amazing life and it was over and she didn’t have to hurt or worry or fear anymore. Of course we cried.  So so many tears.  A migraine full of tears, but I would say most of the