When all the noise is silenced ...

My manuscript of the opening book of my series, The Enchanted Bookstore is completed, pitched, and submitted with fingers crossed and a sigh of satisfaction. Now what still pulls on my soul? All the noise has silenced. I love the verse of Rumi, the 13^th c Sufi poet.

I promised my writing muse a vacation to allow her to regroup. She accepted with mixed reactions. Some days she begs to write what my main characters whisper to her, and other days she’s happy to wander and collect new ideas, like seashell treasures on life’s shore.

As she drifts, I’ve spent time catching up. The last stage of our patio remodeling called for my attention – landscaping. I love gardening and attacked that project with the same fervor I completed my manuscript. After a few days of planting bushes, potting plants, and hauling landscape stones, my muscles cried for reprieve. But, it’s a lovely backyard haven now where my muse intends to craft many stories. These pictures show some of my efforts with orchids and a few other tropical plants.

I’ve also caught up with friends and family who patiently waited for me to take a break. I made new acquaintances at the Florida Writers Association conference. My husband and I will be taking our first vacation in years to the Keys in a couple weeks.

A break from writing doesn’t ever mean a halt to all writing. I’m working through a backlog of demands for short stories and promotional shorts for my February release, Tears on a Tranquil Lake.

Once I’ve satisfied these necessities, what still pulls on my soul? My spirit loves the outdoors -- biking through parks and beaches. One cycling trip this week put me face-to-face with a wild boar, the first I’d seen! It was so big I had to look twice to be certain it wasn’t a cow. Also, becoming a better kayaker on the lagoon in our backyard is high on my list.

I’m also guarding a bit of time for neglected hobbies – watercolor painting, knitting, and reading. I’ve painted for decades, but have a few too many northern snow scenes for my new Floridian home. A dear author friend and avid knitter suggested I explore a knitting website, Ravelry, warning me it was a huge world that would suck in me – it is and has! Now, if I can only shorten my stack of books to read!

I was thrilled to write and finish my last manuscript, happy to have a break, and am eager to resume crafting the next book in the series. Life is good.

At the Bradenton Village of the Arts, celebrating the Day of the Dead

For this week's Magical Monday I'd like to tell about my Saturday visit to the Bradenton Village of the Arts during their annual Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) festival. Southern ways are still new to me and this holiday was something I’d heard of, but never really understood. I thought the event would be more like a Mexican/Spanish Halloween celebration. I was very wrong. Instead, it had its own entrancing magical communication with the dead. Nothing scary. A happy event.

Each gallery presented a lovely altar to honor deceased loved ones with their photos and small memorabilia of their lives. The shrines were decorated in bright colors, gold, yellow, orange. Chrysanthemums, marigolds, candles, smiling sugar skulls, skeletons dressed in party clothing added to the gaiety. These altar pictures were taken at the local celebration I attended.

The intent of the holiday is to encourage visits by the souls, so that the souls will hear prayers and comments of the living directed to them. Celebrations can take a humorous tone, as celebrants remember funny events and anecdotes about the departed. I saw many loving and humorous mementoes on the local shrines--very heartwarming.

Traditionally, Día de los Muertos is a holiday celebrated by people of Latin American and Latinos living in the US and Canada. The celebration occurs on November 2 in connection with the Catholic holidays of All Saints’ Day (November 1) and All Souls’ Day (November 2). The holiday can be traced back thousands of years to an Aztec festival dedicated to the goddess Mictecacihuatl. Then it was common to keep skulls as trophies and display them during the rituals to symbolize death and rebirth. In Spain, there are festivals and parades, and, at the end of the day, people gather at cemeteries and pray for their dead loved ones. In most regions of Mexico, November 1 honors the deaths of children and infants, Día de los Inocentes ("Day of the Innocents"), whereas deceased adults are honored on November 2.

Typically today, during the three-day celebration, families usually clean and decorate graves; most visit the cemeteries where their loved ones are buried and decorate their graves with offerings, especially Mexican marigolds. The flower is so important in modern Mexico, the name of the event is sometimes replaced with the term Flor de Muerto ("Flower of the Dead"). These flowers are thought to attract souls of the dead to the offerings. Traditionally, families spend some time around the altar, praying and telling anecdotes about the deceased. Celebrants often wear shells on their clothing, so that when they dance, the noise will wake up the dead.

Catrinas, one of the most popular figures of the Day of the Dead celebrations in Mexico

Toys are brought for dead children (los angelitos, or "the little angels"), and bottles of tequila or mezcal for adults. Families will also offer trinkets or the deceased's favorite candies on the grave. Offerings are also put in homes, usually with foods such as candied pumpkin, pan de muerto ("bread of the dead"), sugar skulls, and beverages. The offerings are left out in the homes as a welcoming gesture for the deceased. Some people believe the spirits of the dead eat the "spiritual essence" of the food. Pillows and blankets are left out so that the deceased can rest after their long journey. I saw some homes throughout the Village of the Arts with these offerings on tables on porches, to invite the spirits of loved ones home.

I was very touched by the celebration. Everywhere were fond remembrances of those who had passed away. There was definitely magic in the air.

Gran calavera eléctrica ("Grand electric skull") by José Guadalupe Posada

A field trip for my writing muse . . . the Tampa Botanical Gardens

Last week while entertaining company, we took a trip to the Tampa Botanical Gardens. The effort was to find some interesting outing to pass the time. What I found was an awakening experience for my muse, tempting her to create an array of incredible fantasy settings. My muse loves field trips, so I’ve learned to take my camera along.

In most cases I had no idea what the common or scientific names were for these species, which was a real frustration for the biology major in me, but lack of formal names didn't bother my muse. She just made up her own.

This unusual hanging growth grabbed her attention at the park’s terraced entrance. Its leaves were like a staghorn fern, but the base arranged in papery layers like that of a hornet nest. It may well have been a staghorn fern on steroids, as many plants appear to me from the perspective of a transplanted northerner.

Across the patio, a fountain held the aura of a fantasy setting. A giant pinecone apex set on a primitive-looking wheel, festooned with embossed blossoms.

Epiphytes (aerial plants) always whisper “fantasy” to my muse, this one on a grand scale, smothering the fork of the mighty live oak trunk.

Flowering lily pads set amid a bamboo forest = exotic fantasy. My muse saw fairies hiding underneath the flat leaves, waiting for us to pass.

A pregnant banana tree seemed no miracle to my muse. That so-large-it-frightens flower demanded sex, so reproduction should be a given.

These were a few of the fascinating plants and sites which woke the imagination of my muse to spin out a fabulous setting or so for my fantasy stories.

Sex is in the air

Springtime is all about sex, plenty of sex - ORGIES!

My first spring living in Florida and I wasn't prepared for the seasonal journey into hedonism.

Cooler winter temperatures suddenly gave way and soared into the 80s. Blossoms signaled the start of the party. Billboard-sized hydrangeas advertised themselves as neighborhood brothels. In the heat their pistils dripped with nectar, screaming with desire to be caressed by pollen of nearby stamen. An ages-old trick, they used their sweet fragrance of sex to lure all types of residents. Tiny feet, wings and tongues trailed yellow dust across their intimate parts.

Even my own vine I brought, packed into the car, all the way from Ohio succumbed to local evil ways like I never expected. I've raised the enormous vine from a single sprout, included in a "get-well" planter I received after my appendectomy thirteen years ago. It remains unidentified, nameless, but still a family member none-the-less. (If anyone reading this can tell me the species of my vine, I'd be very grateful.)

This past week my vine shamelessly exposed itself, hanging heavy with maybe a hundred flower whorls. Normally, I see a dozen or so, but a hundred? Florida turned my vine into a hussie! Embarrassed, I hoped no one else noticed, but no. Closer inspection revealed a dozen horny creatures already hanging on blossoms, prepared to give their best "come on" lines to potential mates. Butterflies flashed their gaudy colors. Little male lizards extended bright orange throat pouches to impress the next lady lizard who passed. Intoxicated by the scent and sticky nectar from my vine, along with their own bodies screaming for release, they didn't even notice me snapping photos.


“The flower is a jumble of thighs, the sun's harem - the most oriental thing imaginable.”
~ Malcolm De Chazal