This is our vacation out of office week. Everyone home. Eating. Laughing. Swimming. Drinking. Running. Loving. Together.
Lucky us, right?
These last weeks of summer, stop reading the hate tweets, stop scanning the headlines for the latest outrage, and stop worrying about the outcome next November. Instead, why not take a moment to see flowers, to hear joy, and to feel warmth? Be grateful. Remember you love life.
#summerwins
XXOO
There is no denying that at the center of memoir is an unreliable narrator. As I wrote yesterday,”Working with memory is even less faithful than fiction. There is nothing to google or investigate. Sure I can ask a brother or two, but I don’t remember any of them standing with me in that short hallway between the kitchen and my father’s den.” In memoir you stand alone, even if the subject of your work is the whole lot of you, you have only yourself to corroborate with.
As I plunge further into my own murky and dark past I have only my instinct to rely on; here the tenants of fiction and non-fiction collide, for they are both born of the creative spark that ignites my fingers across the keyboard. Beyond that they deviate.
Living in the rural and magnificent state of Vermont gives us countless opportunity to walk, swim, and rejoice in clean air and water. Rivers, large and small, and lakes dot the picture perfect landscape, and if you are willing to hike a bit, waterfalls too abound. Recently, we spent a few afternoons when the sun was bright and warm seeking out a variety of swimming holes. Lucky us, right?
Nine Cent Girl 