fearful

Hi everyone -- 

Whenever I feel fearful I have a strong urge to escape to somewhere like the above photo. It was taken on our walk in the Cumbria Way and it's not representative of the walk at all, but that photo captures some sort of magical, wonderful place for me. (Phil is the small person walking on the right.) The interesting thing (and sort of disappointing thing) is that when I walked this part of the path I did not notice how tall these trees are -- it's only in looking at the photograph that I truly saw it. (There's probably some sort of life lesson in that. Sounds like it, doesn't it?)

But anyway, I seem to be fearful right now. I don't feel it in every day life, but I'm dreaming it. My dreams have been a crazy: storms, pastors telling me I'm not trying hard enough at my spiritual life (grace anyone?). The most revealing: Frogs threatening to eat my baby -- which, believe me, is a clear reference to the draft of this book I'm working on. Babies = book. 

And I tell you, I'm not feeling that stressed. I'm chugging away steadily. But stressed I am. The only way out of this is through it. I know that much. I'll keep giving this over to God (I pray in the mornings before work). And I'll continue to work and hopefully my dream life will come to center again.

You guys ever do this: Dream your stress rather than feel it? 

And what are your dreams like? In color? Black and white? What? 

What's been on my mind this week? I'm thinking a lot about Haiti and the cholera epidemic. Whew. Here are some photos from the NYTimes photojournalist blog. And the 400 people holed up in Lions Club in Ciudad Miguel Alemán in Mexico because of the gang fighting. On an NPR story I heard this week (can't find right now) there was something about Mexicans calling the gun traffic and the drug/gang wars a bi-product of a border with their affluent neighbor. Yes, us. Both of these human tragedies were on my mind a lot this week.  

Here's something that made me smile: Loved that Google Maps had to issue this statement: "Although Google maps are of high quality and Google works constantly to improve and update existing information, in no way can they be used for military decisions between two countries." Did you hear about this? I'll think about this next time I'm planning to dredge up a river.

How are you? 

Amy

eating lots of butter (but slowly)

Dear Everyone (or letter #1 as I try to write one letter a week for the rest of the year) -- 

How’ve you been this week? I hope well. 

Me? Contemplative. That’s how I’d describe it. I’m back in Chicago after several months away (yes -- crazily -- several months) and I'm yearning a bit. I miss away. One of my friends says that after only two days of elementary school, her son asked for the date of the next holiday. She says it was a record. I can relate. 

But first, news. News is the way all letters should start. This is because of boredom. It allows you to get the headlines and skim the rest. What's my news? My book news? Yes, I have it and can't say it. Because this is a blog and not really a letter and a blog is way too public. Still, I will persist in pretending that this is a letter as soon as this paragraph is done. What I can say is that I haven’t gotten an editorial letter yet from my brand new publisher (Knopf), which means I haven’t been making changes to “Pigeon-Shot.” This is not that unexpected. Publishing takes a lot of time. 

So what have I been doing with my writing time? Travel (as I mentioned) and writing other things. While I am writing something for kids as well (I promise, I promise), one of my little side-projects is an essay for older readers -- much older readers, as in adults. (Shh! You didn’t hear it here!) You have no idea how wily and adventurous this makes me feel. I mean, there’s a sense that once you’ve found your particular box, you should punch some air holes, close up the top, huddle down and quietly work. (And don't rattle the other boxes!) But I don’t want to oblige. I want to pop open the lid, stretch out a bit. Can I do it and publish? I don’t know. And that’s sort of fun.

My writing has been fun, and my thoughts have turned to slow living. Yes, really. I know I’ve mentioned this before here. I talk about it all the time, and I’m at it again. Sorry. It’s just that when Phil and I were walking in England this summer, it was so glorious. And it was because it was simple: We didn’t have to make any decisions. We got up. We ate our cooked breakfast. (I admit that I currently feel a slight nausea at the sight of cooked eggs shivering yellow on a plate --  the only evil side-effect). Then we walked for six hours at a rambling, leisurely pace to the next bed and breakfast. (We took longer than the printed expectations, so make that very leisurely.) Then we repeated did it again. Again and again. No email, no electronics at all (we had a phone card for those super-charming red English phone booths). And voila, like magic, the world became fresh again, the veil lifted. There it was -- everything, yes. Simple things became pleasures: taking off your socks, putting on dry pajamas, having hot tea, sleep, the moments when sun hit your face. 

Then in France -- more traveling, this time for Phil’s work (yeah, I know life was rough) --  I had a slow living realization about eating. I lost weight the first week there, and I don’t lose weight easily. Or at least not here in the U.S. (and particularly not when I'm sitting a lot, the only exercise being my pen moving from left to right). But in rural France I did. This is the only thing I can attribute it to: I had to cook every meal using only food found at a local market. If I didn’t cook, we didn’t eat. So I couldn’t eat out (or at least not the first week). Nothing was packaged or pre-prepared. I lost weight. 

But man, I tell you, the way I was eating I would have never thought weight loss was an option. I mean, chunks of butter -- chunks I tell you!  Second, I was eating meat. Mostly sausage, because that’s what was available. And it was jerky, stick-in-the-side-of-your-mouth-and-pull chewy (calorie burn?). But still, meat! Finally, I had to cowboy skillet cook everything because the oven didn’t work -- basically frying in butter, butter, and more, gloriously sweet, French butter.  

I wonder about not having the oven too. No baking. I am a baker. But how could I go without muffins?

Hmmm… So this leaves me thinking, feeling contemplative, as I said. (And right now, musing about buttery croissants.)

I got home from the Chicago Public Library yesterday with my books, Phil glanced at the titles and laughed. Then he said, in the sweetest way: “Looks like all of Amy’s issues.”  He was right.  

Here are the titles: 

•  The Yankee Way to Simplify Your Life
•  In Praise of Slowness
•  Wanderlust
•  Exuberance: The Passion for Life. 

Yeah that about sums me up right now. Anyway, in case you missed it, here’s my slideshow of the walk in England. 

What’s up with you?

 

Amy

P.S. Have you heard the news about Mayor Daley? Not running. Yeah, crazy. All this time, I thought we had a mayor for life. 

walking the cumbria way

ohmygoodnessthiswassogreat! [translation: whoo-HOO!] 

One of my all-time favorite vacations. My first time to England. 

We walked in the lake district of England on the Cumbria Way. We did a short-walk version (took more time). We didn't have to make any decisions (get up, eat your cooked breakfast, follow the directions and walk to the next place on the path). And the views were so, so, so lovely. 

I want to go back (and am I not just saying this -- I mean it). I prefer cool to hot. I didn't mind the rain. I think I could live there.

Here's my slideshow (in case you're interested): 

(In case you're thinking of doing the trip, we used Sherpa for walking directions and for carrying our luggage to the next inn. The directions they gave us were great. Thumbs up!)