Well, I suppose I spoke too soon about checking in on her, because my new writing spider buddy has already moved on. I read that they tend to stick close to the same area throughout their lifetimes, so I hope she’s somewhere nearby, safe and sound and spinning a beautiful web.
Perhaps one day we’ll find each other again.
I’ve mentioned before that I’m not particularly squeamish about bugs and other creepy crawlies. (Except snakes.) I find them pretty fascinating, actually. (Except snakes.) So when Graham snapped a shot of this colorful lady while he was out doing some work on the house yesterday, my first thought was, “What a pretty spider!”
And she is, isn’t she?
I did some research today, and it turns out, this giantess is an Argiope aurantia, sometimes called the writing spider. They’re known for the patterns they weave into their webs, which often look like X’s and Z’s. They’re not aggressive, but they will bite if provoked, and they tend to stay in one place throughout their lifetimes. And an interesting bit of folklore: It’s been said that if you tear down a writing spider’s web or try to harm it, the spider will build a new web the next day with your name written in silk, thereby cursing you with bad luck.
So, I’ll leave her alone, then. Which is my general rule of thumb anyway, when it comes to spiders.
But it does feel sort of appropriate to have a writing spider close by. I certainly don’t plan to bother her, but I think it’s pretty likely that I’ll check on her every now and again, if only to see what new patterns she’s created.
Y’all, I just had to share this quote, because it jumped out at me yesterday, and now I can’t get it out of my head.
Write as if you were dying. At the same time, assume you write for an audience consisting solely of terminal patients. That is, after all, the case. What would you begin writing if you knew you would die soon? What could you say to a dying person that would not enrage by its triviality?
This quote is from The Writing Life by Annie Dillard.
I read it yesterday while I was procrastinating some housecleaning, and I did not expect it to stick with me like this. But here I am, several hours later, still thinking about it. And now, perhaps you are, too.
So, sorry about that. Or not sorry? I’m not sure. It’s good advice to share, I think. So maybe, then, you’re welcome!
At any rate, what’s your favorite bit of writing wisdom? Feel free to share!
Half of my heart is here with me,
the other half’s in the hills.
I’m not ashamed of where I’m from.
I carry them in me –
my mountains, my people,
those places and faces
and powerful memories.
See, you can take the girl out,
but she’ll come home
whenever that strong heart wills.
They arrive
and darken the skies.
With a boom
and a crack,
like sprinters on a track,
they test their mettle for
the measure of a moment.
And in the end, they are
like victory – so very short,
nearly fleeting.
But never, ever sweet.
Today’s my birthday!
I’m 35. Which feels an awful lot like 34. But five-ier? To be clear, I didn’t expect any life-changing revelations when I woke up this morning. And my goals for the day are pretty modest. I just want to enjoy the sunshine, read some books, eat something sweet, and hang out with Graham.
So, this post will be a little short so I can get on all of that. I think it’ll still be fun, though. Last year, I posted 34 fun facts about me. This year, I present to you, in no particular order, 35 of my favorite things.
Feel free to share some of your favorites! And if it’s your birthday today, too, then I hope it’s a fabulous one! Or, more precisely, I just generally hope you have a good birthday, whenever it is, and a good day today, too, even if it’s not your birthday.
There’s a phrase musicians use – “find your instrument.” What it means is this: Find the one music-making thing that feels like home when you pick it up and start to play.
I haven’t found mine yet. Or perhaps it’s as simple as my voice, in which case, I will never have to pay for tuning or new strings or a collapsed bridge.
Graham always thought his instrument was the viola. He played it for many years and loved it. It fit into his hands and on his shoulder, and he liked the deeper tones, the more caramel-y timbre. Violins sound like silver. Violas sound like gold. Rich, deep, and still bright and resonant.
But Graham hasn’t picked up his viola in a long time. Over the years we’ve been together, he’s tried his hand at guitar and at piano, he’s picked up a harmonica and banged on a drum set. I figured he’d just lost interest. But now I know – the viola is just not Graham’s instrument. And neither were any of the others.
This is all going somewhere, I promise.
See, my parents came to visit this weekend, and my dad brought up his guitar – the usual – and also a mandolin he bought secondhand. He figured it would be fun to learn to play. He was right, of course. Especially for Graham.
Turns out, the mandolin is Graham’s instrument. And we found it, on a warm Saturday night by the fire in our back garden.
He took to it immediately. My dad was a little jealous (sorry, Dad, if you’re reading this, but you know and I know that it’s true), but was also impressed and happy, and gracious enough to give a few quick lessons.
And before any of us knew it, they were sitting there, picking out songs to play together and laughing like they’d been doing it for years.
It’s actually pretty cool, to see two of your favorite people find a new favorite thing. A most wonderful discovery indeed.
P.S. – I’ve been trying to figure out what to get Graham for his birthday. Now I know. Good thing I have until November to do some research and find exactly the right mandolin!
I more or less inherited these little decorative plates after my grandmother died. My dad’s mom, that is.
I don’t remember a time when these weren’t hanging over the stove in her kitchen, and I always liked them. Graham had to be convinced to hang them in our house, but I put my foot down. Fond memories make a house a home.
I hadn’t really thought much about them for years until I saw a post over on Suzassippi’s Lottabusha County Chronicles, talking about her fondness for fruit motifs and small town variety. Yet another thing we share, it seems.
I don’t really know much about these plates. There’s no maker’s label on them, other than a sticker that they were made in Japan, and I don’t know where my grandmother picked them up or how long she had them. But they certainly have a place in my house.
Funny, how little things can become beloved heirlooms, isn’t it?
I know it might be hard to believe, but this is actually the face of a supremely happy cat. He always misses us when we’re gone, and doesn’t want us out of his sight when we’re back.
It’s nice to be so loved.
(P.S. – We’re both playing catch-up this week. Me and Graham, that is. Gatsby doesn’t do work, because, well, he’s a senior citizen and a cat. Graham’s busy season is finally over, and an issue I’d been pouring my time into is hopefully resolved. So, we’re getting back to life as usual, if such a thing even exists. And we’re working on several old house priorities that piled up over the spring and early summer. Any interest in hearing about them? Let me know! Otherwise and either way, I’ll keep things interesting around here. I promise. 😊)
Somewhere by the blue gray sea,
just after the pink sun
peeks over the horizon,
when the water sparkles like diamonds
and the sand turns golden,
that’s our place.
(Let’s go back.)
A Virginia Writer's Diary 