#MemoryLane Mondays~ Country Roads, Take Me Home...

To the place that I belong...

Saturday afternoon, after I fixed homemade pizza while my husband mowed the lawn, we ate lunch and then headed out to go do a little shopping at the Mennonite Grocery not far from where we live. They have lots of fresh fruits and vegetables but also local honey and sorghum, homemade jams and jellies, cookies and breads and fudge.

I only needed tomatoes (don't even get me started on how awful store-bought ones taste to me- garbage, blech!) but we were having tacos and burritos later this week and well, I just don't trust the tomatoes I buy at the store anymore and saw no reason to waste money on something that tastes bad or is rotten and then have to throw it away.

I'd shop from our Mennonite grocer more often if I could just convince hubby it's worth the extra trip to get the fresh produce every week. In the mean time, I'll make do with what I can get, but I enjoy the chance to shop local and definitely feel confident in buying from the Mennonite community.

As soon as we stepped out the front door, a wave of nostalgia swept over me. Gone was the stifling heat and humidity we've grown accustom to this summer. In it's place was the smell of fresh cut grass, reminding me of watermelon and childhood summers in the country.

The sky even seemed bluer than it's been in, gosh, I don't even remember. I felt like I could breath beneath that pristine blue and the bright white fluffy clouds that drifted by overhead. Grass seemed greener and the air felt clean as it hit my lungs. It wasn't heavy or stuffy anymore. And I didn't feel heavy or stuffy either.

We rode to town to get cash, the windows down. I stuck my arm out the window, enjoying the cool in the air, the blast of it against my skin, swirling my hair around my shoulders and rejuvenating my soul. I haven't felt that good, that free, in months and I can feel the shifting of seasonal things. It's not visible yet- no leaves changing color, but there is an undercurrent of change surrounding us and I love that I know this.

When we arrived at the Triple G, there was a clicking gear-grinding sound and my husband says, "Check out the horse." Between their store and the storage barn they have you could see behind the building that they had a horse on some sort of conveyor, walking and turning the gears for something. We didn't ask, but I'm sure it was for powering something they needed for running the small store, perhaps water to a well or something.

I got my tomatoes and hubby got a seedless watermelon and some homemade chocolate chip cookies and my daughter got a small plate of peanut butter fudge. As we left, hubby asked if we needed to be in a hurry to get back to the house and I told him no. He said we'd take the long scenic route home, so we just drove around in the country and he showed us places he knows in his hometown.

This is a rare treat as we usually don't go out and just ride around. When I was a kid growing up, summer Saturday nights were often spent riding around the countryside with my grandpa and uncle, just to get out of the house. I waved at people sitting on their front porches, who were strangers to me, but who seemed to know my grandpa and uncle well.

This is the imagery that shivered to the surface of my recollection as we drove through the countryside. The sky seemed as blue as I remember from my childhood, bluer even, the clouds so soft and white I wanted to touch them, pull them down and use them for pillows for a lazy summer afternoon nap. As we traveled deeper into the twisty byways of Kentucky hills and dales, passing along on narrow tree-lined shady lanes with cool air winding in through the windows and around us, through golden splotches of sunlight dappling the gray asphalt, the nostalgia morphed into melancholy and tears visited my eyes, though I didn't shed any.

I took a deep breath, the cloying aroma of newly baled hay and cut tobacco filtered through and awoke memories long buried, but not forgotten. An army of tall corn stalks stood as weary sentinels around a sharp curving lane, bidding us safe passage into the back roads, the hidden treasures of old dilapidated houses and barns, of cows resting beneath shade trees and horses grazing nearby fence lines. I saw my first ever black and white spotted mule and wished my grandpa were still around to see it and share in that wonder with me. I'm not sure if it was a painted or a palomino or what, but I've never seen anything like it in my life.

We rambled along, zipping around corners, the wind like cool hair combed through my fingertips as we headed south. We passed our turn off, ending up cruising along, taking in the beautiful homes and fence-lined pastures in Tennessee before we circled back around and crossed the state line and bounced up the hill toward home... It was truly a lovely afternoon outing and one I hope we repeat. Maybe next time I'll take my camera and snap pictures to share (as the ones shared today are just from our drive back from Franklin, KY last month.)

Treasure the moments and remember the memories.

 

The Thief of Always by #CliveBarker (#Favorite #Book Spotlight)

From the back blurb on my copy-

A magical book for readers of all ages from the inimitable Clive Barker, illustrated with more than forty of his own drawings.

Mr. Hood's Holiday House has stood for a thousand years, welcoming countless children into its embrace. It is a place of miracles, a blissful round of treats and seasons, where every childhood whim may be satisfied...

There is a price to be paid, of course, but young Harvey Swick, bored with his life and beguiled by Mr. Hood's wonders, does not stop to consider the consequences. It is only when the House shows its darker face—when Harvey discovers the pitiful creatures that dwell in its shadows—that he comes to doubt Mr. Hood's philanthropy.

The House and its mysterious architect are not about to release their captive without a battle, however, Mr. Hood has ambitions for his new guest, for Harvey's soul burns brighter than any soul he has encountered in a thousand years...

"In a tale that manages to be both cute and horrifying, bestselling novelist and screenwriter Barker puts the dark side back into childhood fantasy."- Publishers Weekly

Some 10 odd years or more ago, I knew of Clive Barker as a master of horror novels, most famously because his Hellbound Heart was made into the movie Hellraiser and its sequels, but I hadn't actually read any of his books until a very close friend suggested I start by reading Clive's children's fantasy novel, The Thief of Always. He said it was a great introduction to Barker's work for a first timer like myself.

I fell in love with this book immediately from the first sentence. The vibrant descriptive writing sucked me in and kept me there until I finished the book in short order. This was, as I said, a good decade ago, but the story's message about not wasting your time, your life away, of not taking the important things for granted, spoke volumes to me. I laughed, I shuddered in fear and bawled my eyes out while reading this book.

I can't say I've ever read any other Clive Barker novels, though I might have read Hellbound Heart, but I still enjoy this story immensely. In fact, I recently reread it and remembered why I loved it so, all over again. I loved it so much, that I decided my 9-year-old daughter was old enough to enjoy it and so, for several nights at bedtime, I would read a chapter or two to her.

It was a very emotional ride for both of us, sharing in those moments of fear, her eyes widening in anticipation about what might happen next, the sadness in her tears at the revelation about what the House truly was, the creatures that seemed sad and trapped there, and the triumph of Harvey and his friend Wendall in rectifying the wrongs done by Mr. Hood. We laughed, shuddered in fear and bawled our eyes out together. And there was NOTHING like sharing that story with my daughter, not only because it was a book of my heart that I enjoyed, but because I know it will be a favorite book of HERS the rest of her life as well and I'm thrilled to give her a gift like that, for her to appreciated brilliant writing and vivid imagery in a well told story.

This is definitely one for the bookshelf and one to reread over and over. I would highly recommend it for children and adults, alike.

WIPlash Wednesdays-Descriptive Writing

Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader - not the fact that it is raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.

~E.L. Doctorow~

What Do YOU see?

As a reader, I enjoy epic novels with great attention to detail. I don't just want to see the waterfall—I want to hear the roar of it as it rushes over the cliffs above. I want to feel the cool spray as if I'm close enough to reach out and let it sprinkle and splash on me, close enough to dive right into the swirling, rolling waters (nevermind that I can't actually swim).

Then I would relax next to a large rock, smoothed over time, where the water laps lazily against the gray stone slab. I could feel the soft swishing of the waves against my body as the noonday sun beats down, warming my skin through the lush leaves of the branches above. Hear the twittering tropical birds swooping and calling to each other in the distances while the sweet aromatic flora scents waft in on the breeze and envelope my senses. High in the sky, white wispy clouds drift by on a cerulean canvas.

As a writer, I also enjoy incorporating details to bring the scenery to life—to bring all the reader's senses into play, to see, feel, smell, hear and maybe even taste, what's there. I want them to join me in the moment, to live it as they read it.

What good is writing if it doesn't conjure up a reality? those adventures we love so much might seem like random words strung together, but the beauty comes when those words segue from a blank screen of nothingness—opening onto a scene, the characters, a room or setting- and a movie begins to play out, to take shape in the mind of a reader.

The Kelly green grass on the hillside glistened in shimmering dewdrop diamonds in the cool early summer morning light. Golden sunshine warmed the white wooly sheep grazing the valley near the babbling brook that divided the countryside. Yellow dandelions dotted the banks on either side as little Tommy chased his Labrador retriever down a dusty lane nearby.

Tommy stopped to pick a dandelion that had gone to seed. He lifted it gently, squeezed his eyes shut so tight his eyelids ached, then blew the white tuffs with all the air in his lungs. Squinting one eye open, Tommy watched, his jaw slack, as the tiny puffs rose into the heavens and drifted away like so many miniature umbrellas floating to mysterious destinations and far-off places his five-year-old mind could only daydream about. A row of lilacs in bloom perfumed the air with their sweet aroma.

Smoky, the jet black Lab, dashed back to his young master whose sandy brown hair, tousled by the breeze, had fallen into his eyes. Tommy took a deep breath, threw back the strands of hair and tossed the spent dandelion stem over his shoulder, then snatched a twig from the roadside.

"Get it, Smoky!" Tommy reared back and flung the stick toward the creek. Darting through the tall damp grass, the dog leaped through the air and splashed down in the shallow water. Racing back to Tommy, Smoky appeared to grin with the twig in his slobbery jowls. The dog dropped the stick at his boy's feet, then shook the water from his shiny black fur, dousing Tommy in cold creek water.

"You silly dog!" Tommy squealed, falling to his knees and wrapping his arms around Smoky's damp neck, paying no mind to the cloying wet-dog smell emanating off his pooch. "I love you."

********

Can you see it? Feel it? Smell it?

All that on the fly, a little word play in a free writing exercise, but it came to me, rolling out in a mini-burst of detailed inspiration.

What about you?
Anything by a writer that ever stuck with you~ long after you were finished reading it?