13 June 2006


does the trick.

A few days of no writing and I am feeling damn prolific. And after a day in the city, bursting. The two-minute-shower that kept me from my notebook was too long. I think I lost about twenty dozen thoughts to the steam and green walls.

I am coming home without conclusions but with hundreds of questions and quotations. But today is Lydia's brithday party--yes two months late. She was waiting for one of her friends to get goats, but by the time they got the goats she decided she wanted to have a western party instead of a farm party. So now the western party is two months late. So the whole house smells like chocolate cake and there are helium ballooms and plastic spoons and soda (which we never buy) in the fridge and someone is mixing frosting and the boys are vaccuming and pushing back the couches.

We're always pushing back the couches. Sarah told me a few days ago that she always wonders what our living room will look like the next time she comes over. It changes daily, according to our needs.

So I think I am going to go out into the woods with my notebook, like I used to when I was little, when I read a lot of L. M. Montgomery and probabally bordered on pantheism and spent as much time as I could by the river singing under bridges or climbing trees or engaging in monologes and writing stories about girls named Adele and their secret hideaways and tame beasts.

Oh and there was the hemlock grove.


Anonymous said...

I'm glad I can keep up with you via your blog. Happy writing, Hannah.


chris said...

isnt hemlock poisonous?...

Sarah Sharp said...

Hrmmm... I feel like I've heard that hemlock question before. Hope you had loads of happiness in the woods. I want to come over right now!

chris said...

i think tillich is referring to the fact that our ideas of God will always fail ... but just in that failure is when God (God beyond our own constructs of Him) is truly allowed to and does appear, when we drop our guard and such ... at least that's what i think he's saying.

Brutes In The Halls said...

You've make me homesick for my childhood. Of course, I didn't have woods and bridges; usually I wrote, sang, and monologued on the roof or a nest in the chest-high weeds.

Funny thing is, it's always the thoughts in the shower that are the ingenious ones, not the thoughts in the woods, when you're all set and ready. My favorite memories of creative thought and insight had come at the most unexpected times.

I don't know about yours, but my notebooks are filled with the shadows of good ideas grown dim in the moments it took to find my pen and paper. Few gems filter through before they first fade.

One of the most beautiful things anyone ever said to me, was that they wanted to see all my unfinished works, and false-start inspirations, and not just the final products. To be intimately aware of that process, to be acquainted with, and appreciate those thoughts. That, if it were possible without inducing disappointment, would be some kind of real love!

naomi said...

hannah, i miss you like hell, but i know you're in a better place.

i know i said i was writing you a letter- and i am, only you will probably get it postmarked from costa rica.

i leave sunday.

it's a weird feeling, actually.

sort of like being in an airport... a place of nowhere-ness, like a holding pattern. stuck between the place i usually am and this place i'm on my way to, but not quite anywhere else.

jamie said...

we are going to the beach.. or venturing through your woods.. hopefully this evening and i am excited.