Moving on with the Dirt

 I'm getting the best birthday present this year. Over the week of September 26 to October 2, I have the opportunity to go up north (7 1/2 miles from the Canadian border) to a writer's workshop. It's called the Red Shoes Writing Retreat. I am beyond excited! Here's some pictures of the quaint little inn where I'll be staying: And here is the bedroom that I'll be staying in: Besides the actual workshops, we'll be taking a boat tour up the river, having a fish fry, going on a hike in the state park, touring the heritage center, touring the visitor center, going to a brewing company, going to a toboggan company, touring a CCC camp, and listening to some great guest artists and artisans. I cannot even begin to express how excited I am to experience this week away. I'm considering this my "golden birthday do-over." (In case you weren't aware, my golden birthday was spent in court and in a state mental hospital.) I've never been very fond of ...

On this week's dirt, a little essay I wrote a few years back that has been polished up like a diamond-encrusted turd... My eyes are red and swollen, and tears are streaming down my face. They taste salty and wet on my lips. I can't sit in my glider rocker and enjoy a cup of hot, steaming coffee. I must escape to my laundry room. The cream walls, normally bright in the morning sunshine, look dingy today, reflecting my gloomy mood. The white enamel of the washer looks grey. Depression has hit me like a sledgehammer again, telling me I am a failure as a mother. It brings up the time I brought my eldest son on vacation with my lover, the time I hit my daughter when she was screaming. I can hear my youngest son careening around the living room. I knew I was wise to hide, escape, not let him see me in this vulnerable state. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder type I at the age of 18. The manic phases fly me higher than the clouds and I make bad choices of epic proportions. ...

 One of my kids finally touched a bug willingly. Matthew picked up a caterpillar the other day. He saw it crawling on the ground and at first was grossed out. I was helping Nick try to find something in the pole shed. I walked by and Matthew was cringing away from the caterpillar. I explained to him that it was just a caterpillar, it wasn't going to hurt him, and I walked away. When I came back five minutes later, Matthew was playing with it. He even brought it into the house and I got these pictures: I did make him take the caterpillar out of the house. I wasn't about to have a bug living in my house. Besides, I figured the dogs or cats would probably have the poor thing for a snack. Matthew brought him (or her) back outside, and it's happily living its life. I never made Matthew wash his hands after playing with the thing, though. Matthew is really bad at keeping his hands away from his face. He was rubbing his eyes, and one of his eyes swelled up to the point it was near...

 It’s early Sunday morning (think 6:00), and I’m sitting at the prayer cabin. I’ve been up for about 45 minutes writing in my journal and drinking coffee on this gorgeous fenced-in porch. It’s 76 degrees out with a light wind, which makes it the perfect weather for being outside, at least right now. It’s going to get up to 95 again today, which I’m not looking forward to. Here’s a picture of what I was doing at 5:30 this morning: I’ve been working on my Capstone course, a culmination of all four courses I had taken which results in a 15-page story. I must tell you, I’ve been having problems getting this story out. I put together a rough draft. The students in the Capstone are supposed to give you feedback. I got a “good,” another “good,” and then a few sentences on how it was good. That is not helpful at all. So, I got in touch with some people from a former workshop I did, and whoa, way more help there! I decided to scrap the whole story and start over, basically. I’m keeping elem...