Wow. Have I been lazy or what?

Just noticed my last post was in December. While Novel Launch Day was pretty spectacular--thanks to all my friends and the two sites that hosted me and my NEWLY PUBLISHED novel (Gibson's Bookstore in Concord, NH, and MainStreet BookEnds in Warner, NH)--a few things have happened since.

Mainly, my step father-in-law has transitioned from our home to an independent living facility across the street from the hospital, which is handy when it is necessary (like all day yesterday when I went with him to a last-second doctor visit to help solve a suddenly painful issue). It is supposed to be a win-win situation: a win for him since he is so social and now has tons of friends to hang out with.

Some really cool wallpaper in an exhibit at MASS MoCA.
We were there last weekend to see the Punch Brothers
in concert. My life isn't entirely about taking
care of others, after all. :)

It's a win for me since I can again--in theory--return to my writing since--again, in theory--I will be less exhausted taking daily care of his needs. That hasn't quite happened yet, but it's only been two weeks, so my frequent trips in to see him are only because we have been setting up cable, nursing visits, dropping off medicines and medical necessities that are still shipped to our home, and accompanying him on his myriad of physician visits.

I'm not complaining. Just recording daily life as a Lyme warrior who has a few other co-infections off and on, and a plethora of autoimmune disorders. To make matters worse for myself, when January and February became especially stressful (did I mention my mother has moved in with us too--meaning I am also driving her and her little dog to the dentist, doctors, and vet), I stress ate. Don't judge me. When I'm harried and exhausted, white carbs appeal to me: especially popcorn and butter toast.

I'm still making plans and canceling them. I have only a couple friends left who seem to understand this bizarre condition of mine. But at least my husband completely gets me, or at least supports me and loves me despite my being prone to needing about 48 hours of rest for every handful of hours of activity.

And I plan to return to Anna McGrory's exciting life as a Lyme warrior and amateur sleuth. When I last joined her in unlocking her journey into Book Two of my Lyme Murder Mystery Trilogy, she was about to identify a body. She's afraid it's Frank, which should be just bones by now since it's been over a year since he was murdered. She wonders if there's a real-life Dr. Brennan (on the TV show Bones) who could be called in to make a more accurate I.D. But maybe it's not Frank's remains, after all. I left off just as she and her nephew were approaching the morgue, so I don't know who's in the drawer either. I can't wait to find out!

This rambling post is to say that I'm back. The writer me, that is. I've actually never gone anywhere. I simply got distracted by real life duties that have landed me on the sofa for far too much recovery time. But look at me now: a new post. Maybe the next will be to update my progress on the next novel. I can only hope so.

Juggling buoys

We're moving. We think. We're actually mostly waiting to see the forthcoming building quote, hoping we can even afford to do this thing that we've already set in motion.

While we wait, our own home is undergoing an upgrade. New siding. A broken window fixed. Painting. A repaired faucet, a replaced lamp shade. A new sliding glass door, a new roof for an outbuilding, several replaced lighting fixtures. Upgrade this, tighten that. And all the while help the dogs cope with loud noises and new people in our daily lives.

A buoy sculpture, Cliff Island, ME.(Photo: JP Myskowski)

We're fortunate we can [kind of] afford to build and move. It's not our first choice--mostly since we have recently paid off the mortgage on our home. But it's not our last choice either, since it is all rather exciting.

When we purchased this home in a lovely cul-de-sac neighborhood on an oval about the size of a high school track with an open field in the center for the neighbors to enjoy, we did so as a temporary house. It was too small for our young family.

But over the years, as you sometimes do, we turned a one-car garage into a master bedroom suite, and finished the basement for an at-home office and an entertainment room for the teens. We planted gardens, fruit trees, bushes, a Japanese Maple. Two sheds were added--one to hold what the too small one-car garage once housed, and one to keep the wood dry for our stove. Privacy fencing popped up along the northwest side of the house to help enclose the backyard, creating a secret garden where laundry hangs and we hide from the morning sun.

Now we are four humans under one roof again. But this time it is two in-laws who have joined us. One from his side, one from mine. They'd never met before. I actually only met my step father-in-law once over our 30+ years of marriage.

Our buoys hanging from one of our peach trees.

And again we find the accommodations a bit too snug. And not at all private enough.

So we wait for the quote to come in to see if we can build our new home on a bit of land we purchased earlier this summer up the road apiece in a nearby town. In the meantime, we improve that land a little at a time--clearing brush, removing dead timber, paying for a septic design--while we daydream about living there, in our slightly downsized home, with just the right touch of privacy and separate spaces.

I've been sorting through decades of memories and the stuff you accumulate when you sit still for 17 years. My rule is: if we haven't used it in a year, it goes to the town's swap shop. If it's an item that conjures a memory, I weigh whether or not it brings enough joy to lug around any longer, or whether one of my children might want it. I'm growing surprisingly better at cutting stuff--35-year-old yearbooks from the three high schools I attended in Oklahoma, New York, and Massachusetts included.

If it's something that both my hubby and I have a history with, we decide together. Currently our challenge is trying to decide which buoys to keep. They represent nearly 17 years of going to the seashore as a family. But my husband's not quite as fond of them as I am, which has made me sour on them too just a bit. Should they stay or should they go? Only time, and whether or not we can even afford this venture, will tell.