Throwback Thursday: Riley

I got him, Mom. The Air elemental that keeps destroying the living room. I really did get him.

Riley Beau- July 22 2003 (estimated birth) - October 19th 2013

Picture me, if you will, twenty years old and fresh out on my own, $50.00 in my backpack and living two and half hours away from town I grew up in. Living with a boyfriend who went to school full time and worked part time, in a one bath and one bedroom apartment on the west side of Athens, Georgia. 

Its the summer of 2004 and I am so lonely. Its hard to make friends when you don't have car, cannot drive regardless of the first fact and what acquaintances you have made are limited to your boyfriend's friends which make up his various gaming groups. All of which have their 9-5s during the week. 

So very lonely, this twenty year old. 

So I decided to get a dog. My boyfriend was cool with it, so I hoped online to take a look at the local shelter. I found a dog I liked the sound of and went down to check her out. When I arrived, I was informed the dog had already been adopted and taken home. Discouraged, I turned to leave when a volunteer suggested I have a look around anyways. So I did, walking down the rows of pens looking with hopeful eyes. 

It was my ear, however, that lead me to my dog. 

The bay of a purebred Blue Tick Coon Hound is hard to ignore, especially from five feet away. I found him and he was nothing but skin and bones; someone had abandoned him in a locked trailer with only a toilet for water. I am happy to say that well fed he got up to a muscular and powerful 150lbs. He was a beautiful animal, a good friend, a hellish room mate at time but a devoted pet. I miss him every day and still have his dog tag.

I love you, Riley. 

Always. 

Here is to remembering woman's best friend.

A gift of love

Kek

In what we preserve

Preservation. It has been a human practice for hundreds of thousands of years. We save what we have savored; kept close to our hands and hearts are actions that help keep alive our past and present for our future. We protect so that we may partake of  what we need should the winter prove harsh, should the rains not fall, and should death cross our threshold.

Preservation takes the shape of preserves tonight, to save the summer's bounty of blue and blackberries for the winter to come. For the last two days I have simmered fruit in sugar, chilled, then cooked the next day for lovely, thick preserves. I also had a few browned bananas on hand, which I mashed and made into a cinnamon sprinkled banana bread. Nothing goes to waste in this Clanhold. Today was also a chore day, where I take a bowl of white vinegar and wipe down all the cabinets, moldings, and counters in the kitchen. I scrub the tile backwash behind the stove and sweep the floor. I cycle dishes, hand scrubbing the largest bowls and put up the clean ones. I take bacon out to thaw for a quick dinner, including rice and beans. I pour a cider, add a kiss of whiskey and stir one time with a spoon. I settle into the couch for a well deserved evening of relaxation, where the only sounds I hear come from the hum of the cicadas and the soft chewing of a clan mate enjoying supper.

It is something to treasure. It is something that brings peace into this house. A house that is still healing but finds ways to cope a little better each day.

That, at least, is a very good thing. So I will preserve fruit and add a little bit of hope that tomorrow, we'll have a little less pain and little more strength.

The quiet morning time

Since Kieran's bus has decided it will no long drive by our house to pick her up, I have taken to driving her to Rockford Elementary and dropping her off at the bus that goes to the high school. As a result, I have a lot of quiet morning time. Parts of the Clan are at work and some at school, while the others sleep as I write. Pai, the family dog, sleeps by her food dish near the front door and Durellen, the family cat, groom himself at my left elbow. Every so often he will meow and reach out to nuzzle me. He is a very vocal, very affectionate fellow in the morning.

I am 2,648 words into my first novel. Most of what I have written in the past have been purely academic papers and non-fiction. Now I set out to write a dark fantasy  novel that will tell the story of betrayal, war, and survival in the shadow of a ancient curse. I hope that I can do this beloved story, which has been written on my heart and soul for many year, justice. The title of my book is Hound's Autumn; I hope to have 10,000 words by the end of August.

I have a list of errands that need doing today. Hopefully, everything will go smoothly.

Gods willing.

Good Food

Sitting here at my computer, sipping delicious and lightly sweetened Watermelon-Lime sweet tea. A nontraditional flavor to be sure but I savor it like it was a fine French wine. On my lips is the salty-sweet taste of a slow roasted ham, drizzled in local honey and spiced with black pepper. Cooked upon a bed of rice and last night's ground, free range goat. There is no music but the whish-hum of the dishwasher, the slightly vibration of the AC.

In my heart, however, there is a sweet and gentle music. A song that only good food and a good home can provide.

Some days, it is enough. 

Hope Rising

I am very happy to have a bit of good news with all of you. Despite the late running cold weather and the chemical accident involving the train derailment, we will be getting our honeybees. So late in the season we will not have honey until next year but this is a light in a dark time. It brings a smile to my face to know we will have our first producing animals here at the Clan Home soon.

We are blessed.

Time Marches On

I sigh and the house herself seems to breath a sigh with me. It has been a heavy set of days and the needs of the family have overtaken my time. With five additional people visiting in the days after Angela's death, there has been many meals to cook and much house work to stay on top of. Food was made, we have all been taking turns cleaning up after ourselves and my viral bronchitis is almost completely gone. I have made a diet of antibiotics, vitamins, pain killers/fever reducers and vapor rub.  My inhaler has been a god send and I am thankful that my late tax return gave me the resources to visit an after hours clinic when my fever spiked to 102.9 degree.

Time marches on. My body heals and with it, my heart. The pain begins to scab over and I forge ahead. I have cried, grieved and now I must put on a brave face for I have a household to manage and a family to feed. In a minute I will go and unload the clean dishes, dry them and put them up in their respective places. I will put the dirty ones in for cycling and I will wipe down the cabinets with white vinegar. I fold my attention into a batter of needful things to do for the house, for the word has fallen to my hands and I will see it done. Done well and right, as my mother taught me.

In a couple of days, I will go down to a friend's new house to assist with the move in. That will be good work too.

Food to balm the pain

I have been nursing my hurting clan and thus I haven't written for the Heart of Home in a few days. They have needed me and I heed that call. Mostly, I cook. Food has long been the cornerstone of any comfort here in this clan. I roast whole chickens and mushrooms in red wine vinegar. I bake pumpkins drizzled in maple syrup. I bake cakes and soak them in fire whiskey, sprinkle them with powder sugar. I bake apple pies and potatoes with apples, in a glaze of brown sugar and bacon fat. This is how I mellow the pain, by piling the plates high. Stone ground wheat bread lightly toasted with butter, a little vanilla cake on the sideboard.

This is coping. This is peace. Feeding people is love.

And gods above, I love to love.