Writer's Retreat

 by Maryanna Gabriel

I have total privacy and am happily ensconced with my writing and comfortable chair and straightening

out a chapter. When all else fails, create. 

Between the rain and a problematic plot point where the salient rising actions refuse to cooperate, 

Mocha With Petals

it seemed important to get to a cafe then go for a walk. And look at the photo of the coffee I was given! How could the sun not shine with a such a cuppa?

On the good side, a short piece I have written, a book review, has just been published in Geist, a literary magazine. "Hangman: The True Story of Canada's First Executioner, by Julie Burtinshaw, reviewed by Maryanna Gabriel."

When all else flails, it helps to experience some progress in the writing world. 

 

Most Auspicious

 By Maryanna Gabriel

"And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow.

And evening full of linnet's wings."

                                                                                    - W.B. Yeats

Soon I will be reunited with my possessions and be able to play house once again. I so miss having plants and a garden. A home. How wondrous. 

There is no sense of the ordinary around this change. One morning, I arrived early for an appointment on the property. I was privy to an exceptional sight. A shy white deer grazed quietly next to the garden. A friend sent me the following:

"In many cultures, encountering a white deer is believed to bring luck, purity, and spiritual growth. It may signify that you are on the right path or that positive changes are on the horizon. Some interpret it as a sign of protection or divine intervention, urging you to trust in higher powers."

A most auspicious sign. 

A Saint With Mojo

 By Maryanna Gabriel 


Whoever said a geographic move is not a cure did not understand the importance of vibration. It is all about energy. Some people, natural surroundings, or rooms, are uplifting. Or draining. No question. 

The first thing I did after the last debacle was head for a rather splendid beach. Absent-mindedly, I watched a woman move a metal detector back and forth, scanning for treasure. I leaned against
a log and smelled the sea air,  experiencing the warmth of the September sun. Strange and weird energy that was not mine slowly drained away.

A gleam caught my eye. The treasure seeker missed one. My fingers stretched for what I thought was a silver coin. It turned out to be a medallion, and I dug deeper into the sand. The medallion was connected to a chain of pearls. Upon further examination, I could see it depicted a saint encircled by letters from a language I did not recognize.

Once home, I researched. Oh. Serbian. My heart skipped a beat as I read further. The medallion is for breaking curses, dark spells, black energy, negative family trauma and is used in exorcisms. The pearls promptly went around my neck and the saint now rests close to my heart. 

By not accepting what was unacceptable, I have relocated to a place of great beauty. Perched high on a bluff with a supernal view where clouds roll onward over a sparkling sea, I might as well be on Mount Olympus.

Yesterday, my kind hosts brought me tomatoes. Without saying a word and understanding that I am a writer, today they brought a COMFORTABLE WRITER'S CHAIR. And a bouquet of roses. The scent is heavenly. Clearly, I have whoo-doo, voo-doo, lady luck, and a saint as advertised - adorning my heaving bosom. Thank you, and to partially quote Long John Baldry, no laying any bad-assed-boogie-woogie on this queen of rock' n roll. Back off. I have a saint with mojo. 

Changing The Channel

 By Maryanna Gabriel

"Pain is inevitable but suffering is optional."

-Haruki Murakami

One good thing about getting long in the tooth is the realization there are choices. One does not have to put up with less than. So I am changing the channel. Might as well shift into the sunlight and smell the buttercups fluttering in the meadow breezes. I am checking out of this hotel. 

Get the place near the beach with the pool, Maryanna. Focus on the good. When you are dead, the cost won't matter. What matters is doing one's best with each day. If I do not like what I am experiencing then I can do something about it. So there you have it.

Grass Is Greener

 By Maryanna Gabriel

One never knows when it is the last swim, but I think I just had it. Sadly. The weather has turned, heralding the end of a spectacular summer.

My vagrant gypsy life is not over but there is light at the end of the tunnel and please, if you will, stay tuned for that. Happy as I was, dictated by circumstance, I moved to new accommodation. I was open to the idea - grass is greener and all that. The smell of adventure in the air. New places to explore. Hair blowing in the wind. Call me Rambling Rose and see you later. What a wild and exciting woman. 

Oh boy. A closer look at my reservation indicated a few issues (like no way I could write, for example, with the desk and chair). Fine. Not a problem. I spent the winter writing in cafes. I'm a trooper. I'll adapt. 

In the predawn light, however, I knew I was in trouble when a vehicle stealthily crunched across the gravel and stopped two feet from my open kitchen window. A rather delectable cinnamon number from a bakery I admire was on the hob. The back of the van opened wide revealing its contents. Boxes labeled "Meat" were steadily being unloaded. Suddenly, the whole eating of the bun shifted as I registered what was happening. A number of comments swirled, and the penny dropped. What I was eating suddenly tasted like something else. 

Black gates that open with the right code...the vast expansive lawns without a weed in sight and no chairs to enjoy the grass on...the lake-sized pond with a Palais de Versailles fountain...constant irrigation...the long low buildings beyond. In this vast grass-is-greener setting, the meat was steadily transferred to an adjacent warehouse. 

Rats.

You read that right. 

The product was rats. The bun rolled around in my mouth as I contemplated the ramifications. This was an Auschwitz for rats. Now don't get me wrong. Rats are not my faves by a long shot and I guess somebody has to provide the pythons and what-not in zoos. But geez. Call me sensitive - I spat my bun out. 

Further research provided enlightenment. "Not too fat and not too thin" rhapsodized a Google reviewer. So, just right then. A friend called. Apparently a much sought after delicacy in certain cultures, she tells me. No need to run to Stephen King. Have it all here...