Now, where did I leave that?

Friday, June 24, 2011

Log Jam

It's been quite a week!  The chickens have come home to roost, and unlike my creativity, are already bearing fruit, er...eggs!  We started with the seven rescue hens who moved Monday night from the generous foster home provided by our neighbors into the coop that has consumed our lives since late March. Tuesday evening, Linda purchased two more hens, at least 3 weeks older than the seven, and we suspect one of those two is responsible for the TWO medium eggs we've gathered this week.  They'll be Sunday's breakfast.  These hens weren't free range, or raised organically until now, so we know we're not talking primo eggs, but it's a start.  I've posted more pictures here.  Unfortunately, I'm not feeling nearly so productive. 
Yesterday I got confirmation that an "essay" I wrote is going to be published.  I've been published in this magazine before, but probably not for at least 9 years.  It's exciting and I was profoundly honored to have the editor tell me how my piece affected her; it was high praise, and such validation for my lofty literary goals.  A dear faraway friend congratulated me, read the proofed piece, and offered her assessment that I "practice what I preach."  I should be brimming with excitement, motivation, determination.  Words should be flowing from me like water tumbles down Kaaterskill Falls.  Instead, every word it's taken me HOURS to write today has been dragged kicking and screaming through a crevice in the logjam blocking mind and soul.  The words and thoughts and feelings are 'there'; I can feel them jammed up, can feel my self bulging and swelling from their weighty pressure as they yearn to pour out.  But....nothing.  It's 2:00 on a Friday afternoon, the marvelous gift of a Friday off already more vanished than not, with virtually nothing to show for itself. 
Ah...except laundry.  Laundry has become my saving grace, the thing that seems my only measure of has a beginning, middle, end.  I start with piles sorted in whatever way the mood strikes, and feel the deep satisfaction as each pile vanishes from the kitchen floor, rematerializing clean, soft and neatly hung, or folded and nestled, still warm from the dryer, into the cradle of a purple laundry basket. I seem able to control this small chore, able to see it through to completion, while words and thoughts never make it out of the rinse cycle.  How is it possible that faced with a writer's small success and validation, I'm even less able to loosen that logjam?  And appallingly, painfully mixing metaphors as well?!


the wild magnolia said...

Afternoon, I hopped over to Hudson Valley and love the pictures. Your setup looks wonderful and the hens are awesome ladies. Nothing beats farm fresh eggs.

On writing, it' sounds like your "muse" has temporarily left, it happens to me and I "cannot" write without the muse, I can't "feel" it. Sometimes if I persevere and write anyway she, the muse, comes back.

Congrats on being published! Bravo. Good job! Very exciting stuff.

Molly Gael is Coccidia free and the pneumonia is breaking up, so we are encouraged.

Happy Day!

Kim said...

You sound pregnant and like you're in the last stages...just wishing the labor would start..

To any woman wishing to go into labor I would suggest massage and/or pressure point therapy. Maybe that would work for you as well?

Or maybe give yourself a break. Instead of forcing it say, "nope, not going to write a thing for the next three weeks." Then see what happens...

At any rate...CONGRATULATIONS on your essay being published!


Ashling said...

@ Kim...pregnant? labor? egads!!!
But thanks...oh, and the magazine is Sagewoman, the late summer issue.
@ wild magnolia--yay! So glad Molly Gael will be okay!

JGH said...

Congratulations on the essay -- and the eggs! And I hope the next chapter comes easier to you.

You know, I wish I got the same satisfaction you do from doing laundry. My mom used to love to iron. I can't stand it, and whenever I think I'm done with the laundry, someone brings a new pile down to take its place. It never ends! And now that it's swimming season, there are always wet towels all over the house...this too shall pass

My Farmhouse Kitchen said...

happy to see you at farmhouse kitchen...and i want chickens !!!!

I Wonder Wye said...

Congratulations on the published essay. It's still a thrill to me when something's accepted, no matter how long I've been at it. A friend is raising chickens and my niece is now in the chicken game -- sounds like 'The Egg and I' -- I love to eat eggs...i too love cats, have four, and our blue healer died ;(

Ashling said...

Thank you for stopping by! I'm sorry to hear about your dog. "The Egg & I" it!