Going Inkless

For details of my attempt at camping in arctic temperatures, see the previous post. If you want the quick version, with pictures, this is the place. Arriving at White Pines Forest State Park. The fords on the regular road are dangerous this time of year, so the ranger directed me to this alternate entry. I had my pick of campsites, but had to carry my gear a bit from where the car was parked. After struggling with setting up in the bitter cold, my tent was finally ready! Only a few pictures of the scenery before my camera battery froze to death... At night, the temperature dropped too low to sleep safely, so I gave up and went to a motel. Even with the heater on high and my husband's special Bears blanket, the motel room was as chilly as a tent in autumn. Day two found me suited up and back at the campsite doing camp stuff. Don't be fooled by the sunshine, it didn't really go past about 15 degrees in the warmest part of the day. This is...

Winter camping holds charms that can't be matched in any other season: the solitude; the stark beauty; the contrast of warm clothes, fire or sleeping bag on a frosty night. Many fans would also note the absence of pests encountered on summer trips. There are no bugs, no snakes, no bears, no rowdy camper neighbors keeping you awake half the night. For years, I have enjoyed occasional trips in the winter months, happily alone through cold and snow. Though I have had my share of complications - frozen boots, six-inch snowfall overnight, a four day stretch of freezing drizzle - I have met these challenges with a smile. Nothing is quite as soothing as a long evening watching snowflakes sizzle in the embers, and nothing is quite as magical as a ghostly-silent deer passing through the silvered brush just yards from your camp. So, after hearing about the beauty of White Pines Forest State Park, I planned a cold-weather camping trip there. My original plan was preempted by a family...

I often hear it said that writing a novel is like giving birth. Having done both now, I can see the similarity, but I think the experience is closer to raising a child than to birthing one. Both involve work and pain, but there is a difference in determination. If you decide in the middle of labor that the struggle is too great and you would really rather not do the baby thing, it makes no difference. You're in for the full ride, and there's no going back. By contrast, raising a child requires a more active participation. We choose to be a good parent. We choose not to abandon the effort when times get rough. We work at molding a child who will be capable of going out into the world without us, and we hope that our child will be both well-treated by that world and also a benefit to it. This is, I think, a more appropriate analogy for our literary children. Together, my husband and I have produced a novel, written primarily for the pure goal of telling the story, but ...

Janus paused at the garden gate, his hand on the latch. "Might we rest a while," he asked from the back of his head, "Must we hasten already to the next path?" "every year," his front face grumbled. The great figure withdrew his hand from the gate and sighed. Resigned, he slumped onto the marble bench next to the path. Almost immediately, the uncleared snow began to melt and seep into his toga uncomfortably. He fidgeted in silence, looking simultaneously at the frozen garden around him and at the path beyond the gate. At last, one face spoke, "I think you increase the pace every year, my fellow. We travel so fast, I fear we have not seen all there is to see. What wonders we may have missed! Perhaps, we should return?" "Dude, we're a god. We saw it all." Janus shrugged and gazed longingly backwards at the sandal tracks through the snow. It seemed so recent that they had crossed into this garden from the one befor...

The human mind has a way of finding what it seeks. Studies of the brain have revealed that most of the time, we don't really see all of what we see. Rather, our senses only catch glimpses of the world around us and allow our minds to fill in the gaps with guesses based on experience. There are hundreds of optical illusions and other mind tricks to prove this phenomenon, and the art of prestidigitation counts on it. So uncomfortable are we with the missing things in our perception, that our amazing brains construct something familiar to see us through. As a result, each of us lives in a world largely of our own making. This very personal relationship to our environment can lead to some interesting perceptions. Nearly everyone has a funny story about a misheard song and how the comical lyric seemed to make sense in its own odd way. Faced with random patterns, we unconsciously seek pictures, often finding faces staring back at us. It can be unnerving for some, miraculous for...

As Christmas approaches, here in the USA, we can expect to hear a number of familiar sounds. There are carols we know by heart, the ones we've sung since we were old enough to copy the phrases. Instantly, they carry us back to grade school performances, standing up in our stiff and scratchy finery before a sea of parents' proud faces. We hear new renditions of old favourites and songs we may not know that carry the unmistakable tone of Christmas just the same. Add to this the sound of bells. The full and resonant clangs of the charity collector's bell accompanied by seasonal greetings and thanks are a signal that the holiday is near. If you're lucky, a bell choir or the bright jingle of sleigh bells will tickle your ears and put you in a holiday mood. Crunching footfalls in the snow, children's laughter, and cheery "Merry Christmas" wishes will conjure Christmas in nearly any American's heart. Unfortunately, grumbling has been added to the l...

As blogs go, mine is a simple one. This is intentional as I think it suits the content. The essays you'll find here are basically an extension of the written journals I've kept over the years. The blog is just another box to stuff with thoughts and meditations, and though I may hope that others find them comforting or useful in their own lives, these thoughts are not meant to be a grand display. Bells and whistles were unnecessary . Still, I love the flexibility Blogger offers, and I love even more seeing what people have done with it. Individuals and groups all over the world have used this tool to record their lives, to display their art, to imagine and to remember. There are photography blogs full of unique visions, poetry blogs of unique voices. Some have created simple diaries and others, elaborate scrapbooks celebrating an important event or endeavor. Still others use their blogs to keep in touch with loved ones while away at college or if their work has taken t...