When a Dream Becomes Reality it can be SCARY!

My "friends" Zenobia and Lark run for a hide-out.

Dear Friends,

Ok, so now I've confessed to you all that turning a dream into a reality is SCARY, really scary. That's exactly what happened to me on November the 11th, 2014. A book I began writing many years ago and that I never dreamed would be published, well, it was, and I am trying to grapple with disbelief and joy, two warring elements in my brain.

First you think to yourself, "I can write a book. If he can do it, then I can do it." Then you may sit at your desk and stare at a keyboard or pen for hours. It happens to us all.

For me the dream began in 1969 when I found an old suitcase filled with family letters that dated back to the late 1700s. I soaked in the cadence of their words, the thoughtfulness, the history, the Quaker dialect, the landscape. I rolled in the old letters the way a kitten tumbles around in a bed of
catnip.

I began copying the letters in 1969...

...and continued in 1974.

Some of the letters were faded, and this particular one had blood spots on the top. I copied the letters every time I visited my Cousin Margaret Macdonald, who is the one who first took me to Quaker meetings at Goose Creek, Lincoln, Virginia. What a life-changing experience.

I made notes, copious notes; I copied every word in the letters; I visited the Virginia and Pennsylvania countryside and fell deeply in love with it and the people. I began to write, but I never really believed that anything other than a heartfelt story would emerge for my family to enjoy.

Enter my husband. "You can do it. Just keep shooting for the stars, and you'll do it." So I began to work on my book (which I still didn't believe would ever be a book), and I began to carry pages to my Cambria Writers' Workshop and Kiddie Writers, two critique groups that proved to be invaluable to my process.

Every day I wrote a few pages. Every Wednesday in Cambria I received critiques, drove home, and worked for five to six hours to remedy anything that needed to be remedied. Over and over, hour after hour. My friend, screenwriter Janet Brownell, once advised me to always walk away from my writing when I knew that I had more story inside me to tell. So every night I would get to a point that felt like the story was ready to flow, and I would close the lid to my computer, lock the studio door, and head back into my home and life.

Sometimes, because I spent so many hours working on the book, I actually dreamed out parts of the plot. Those dreams were an amazing gift. I'd get up in the morning and sprint into the studio to make note of them.

So now the book is out there in the world. It is like walking your son to his first day of kindergarten. How can I let this precious part of me face the world alone? It is as though you slice open your chest and fillet your heart into thin, thin pieces. Some critics will gobble up the pieces and spit them out as though they are spoiled, others may treasure their pieces and share them with their loved ones. I can't choose what happens, but I know that some will care for their book, others will toss it aside. I did my best and that is all I can do.

WHERE WERE YOU WHEN I HAD MY BOOK LAUNCH PARTY?

You were all invited to the party, but I was so out of it (yes, I am still in the wheelchair) that I relied on word-of-mouth and Dr. Dan Krieger's wonderful Tribune newspaper story to alert my friends about the event held at The Steynberg Gallery in San Luis Obispo, California.

My sister Laurie, my dear friend Ginny, and Jeff start working the day of the party.

I am supervising!

Is this outdoor table fabulous? YES! My friends Susie Bassetti (Bassetti Vineyards), Cindy Steidel, Penny, Carol, Ginny, and my sis and brother-in-law, and Jeff worked hard to ready the area. Pomegranates, sunflowers, pine cones, Grenache grape vines cut by Ellis Bassette, my dear ones pitched in.

Jeff rolls me through the garden as we leave for The Steynberg Gallery. "Nobody will come," I tell Jeff. He says, "We will have a heck of a lot of cake to eat then." That does NOT reassure me.

"See," I said, "nobody is coming. Get out the cake knife."

When he wheeled me through the door, I wanted to kiss everyone there.

My friend Dee Dee Osborne drove down from Carmel. Dee Dee and I knew each other many years ago in Santa Barbara. Talk about an amazing reconnection. We "found" each other because she wrote me after watching an episode of Central Texas Gardener, on which I appeared. Imagine, Central Texas Gardener has such outreach. (Linda Lehmusvirta, Tom Spencer and staff, amazing).

I looked out into the audience and saw so many who are my beloved, long-time friends.

Throughout the event my friends, musicians, composers, singer extraordinare, Mary Anne and Ames Anderson of Simple Pleasures, performed music of the 1850s. They were superb!

Back at my home Cindy, Susie, Ginny, Carol, and Penny (who was outside finishing bouquets) slaved in my little kitchen.

I celebrated, signed books, saw old friends I hadn't seen in years.

Oh, and we all ate cake, glorious chocolate fudge and carrot cake. Whatever was left over was sent (with the cover intact) on to Hawthorne School.

My stepson Jim efficiently handles book sales. This one is to my dear friend Elizabeth Spurr who has many, many children's books to her credit. She is a fabulous writer. All net proceeds from the sale are to benefit the historic Dallidet Adobe and Garden in San Luis Obispo, California.

I especially loved talking to children who are also interested in becoming writers. We need more programs for young writers. 

Jeff watches over me and everything going on. Since I couldn't walk around and visit, he did it for me. What a partner he is. Thank you, Jeffrey! 

Great friends begin to arrive at my home. Jeanie Greensfelder (left, who recently had her poem read on Writer's Almanac), Connie Higdon Gannon, who is the new director of Greenspace in Cambria, Annie, a wonderful photographer and ceramist, and Thomas, who writes beautifully. 

The farm table is slowly being filled with foods for fabulous friends.

Dear friends Matt Spurr, Ginny Holihan, Susan Branch, Diana, Lee, and Penny (who finally sat down for a moment of rest).

More friends (fainter of heart and not so wild about the cooling weather outdoors) moved inside.

The candles lit, the food available, and some brave souls ventured outdoors to eat and talk.

Writer/photographer Lorin Cary shoots some photos. Check out his Facebook page.

My adopted daughter Skydrea serenaded me with her newly written song and her amazing, thrush-like voice. Thank you dear, Skye.

The day was a looooong one, but one of the most wonderful of my life. Thank you to all my dear friends and readers who helped me celebrate the birth of my book. You make my life richer and fuller.  A million thanks to my brother-in-law Jeff Prather and my sis Laurie. Jeff took most of these photos.

Love across the miles and thank you for joining me. I think I posted too many photos, but I wanted to share the experiences. I know that I am not posting blogs very often. Sometimes it seems like days are not even 24 hours long now.  

Sharon

P.S. The winner of the book An Ocean Garden by Josie Iselin was chosen by the random number generator. Congratulations to Cathi Lamoreux. Cathi, I don't have your address. Please send it along to me and we'll ship the book to you.

Post Thanksgiving Tranquility

Post-Thanksgiving Kitchen

"Things taste better in small houses."

Queen Victoria (1819-1901)

Phew! The flour settled in drifts on the floor. Gravy splattered the wall behind the old stove. Dishes were stacked in haphazard piles on every flat surface in the kitchen. Leftovers filled all the refrigerator shelves, but the day was memorable and filled with love.

My husband Jeff and my brother and sister-in-law all pitched in to help cook our family's Thanksgiving meal, and although we were tired beyond belief at the end of the day, it was all worth it. The four of us crammed into my little kitchen, prepped, chopped, spiralized, tossed, whipped, sauteed, seared, baked, roasted, and finally, voila, a memorable family meal around the long farm table.

I loved it when my 7 year old granddaughter Sara said that she was "grateful that our family is together today." And I loved it when 2 1/2 year old Moses picked up his long stemmed water glass (yikes, was he going to spill it?) and clanked it into his Dad's glass and said, "Cheers." (Which we all did).

Today the house is empty. The flour dust is vanquished, the gravy scoured from the wall behind the stove, the dishes are back on their shelves (my Great Great Gran's gravy boat and blue willow platter made it safely through their 100th plus Thanksgiving), and the turkey soup simmers quietly, or as the French say, "smiles" in the pot.

I've been thinking a lot about the traditions that make Thanksgiving so meaningful for me and my family, but I'm also interested in what traditions are meaningful to others. I'd love to hear your stories, your traditions. Hopefully I will be able to incorporate you and yours into a holiday story for next year.

In this quiet time, I'm going out to harvest my 'Painted Lady' runner beans and take down their tepee. I'll plant my beloved California wildflowers, and read, read, read whenever I am indoors. Tonight will be turkey-alphabet soup, a fire, and yikes, I'll just have to admit it, I'm making lists for Christmas and wrapping stocking stuffer gifts.

Tranquil times to you!

A Walled Village in the Heart of Italy

OK, I'll admit it. I've been lax about writing, but I'll try to do better. Yesterday I received three e-mails from readers who had checked my blog and wondered what is going on.

I did rewrites and answered queries until 8:47 p.m. on the night before we left for Italy. By the time I collapsed into my Alitalia seat (which wasn't bad!), I was ready to hibernate. But you can't hibernate in beautiful Italy.

I was overwhelmed by the richness and diversity and tended to feel best in the picturesque walled and hilltop villages. We hiked, climbed thousands of steps, ate too much good food (as my Tennessee friend said, "too much is not enough"), and saw art work that I had studied in college, but never dreamed I would see in person.

Every day I'll post a few pictures and a few thoughts about Italy, Maine, our wonderful new stone fireplace, Damariscotta, and our trip across the vast United States (hint-we visited the 60 year home of Laura Ingalls Wilder and the Pasadena home of Julia Child). More to come!

My favorite town was a small walled village called Castiglione del Lago on Lake Trasimeno in Umbria.

View of Lake Trasimeno from Castle (fortress) of the Lion, Castello del Lione

One of many small markets in Castiglione del Lago.

For my birthday, it was my dream to throw open a window and gaze out on a beautiful countryside and lake (a la Enchanted April). We stayed in this peaceful village for a total of 7 days and my dream came true.

View from our room at Hotel Miralago on my birthday.

We made friends with Maurizio and his wife Josefina (chef extraordinaire), who own and operate Ristorante Monna Lisa (Monna is correct!).

Josefina in the center with her two helpers.

We ate there many times and were treated with such an open-hearted embrace that we always felt like we were sitting in their home. Their meals are incomparable and their style is fresh and classic.

We stayed at Hotel Miralago the first time we visited the village.

Hotel Miralago (rose colored building) is in the town square.

Sharon (in red) in town square in front of tourist information office.

It was elegant (ask for a room with a lake view) and served a good breakfast, but once we walked down the cobbled street and turned the corner to the gardens and walled tower of Il Torrione, we knew we had to spend time there. In this intimate yet private B&B, we were served breakfast right outside our room in the midst of their beautiful little garden and tower rose garden. Franco and Karen were perfect hosts, and you will not regret a moment of your time in their welcoming inn.

Entrance to Il Torrione B & B is down a small alley inside the walled town.

Il Torrione means The Tower.

Garden leading to the steps of the tower.

View from Il Torrione.

Until tomorrow,

Sharon