I finished this book a few days ago. It was a little different in paranormal fiction. Refreshing.
The story grabbed me from the beginning and kept me guessing. I loved the nature-loving theme throughout the book. I highly recommend reading the blurbs on Goodreads or Amazon, then enjoy the book.
I wish I could say more, but, like I said, it’s been a couple of days since I finished Call Off the Search and moved on to its sequel, Children of the Sun. Let me warn you. If you dislike cliffhangers, like me, the next book may not be for you.
Here is where I keep myself accountable to me for progress on projects of my passions. But yesterday I got behind and then ahead on this episode.
Sometimes I feel I make other people feel inferior through my checklist. Please don’t. I feel inferior to everyone else in that I’m sure they’re getting other stuff done that they don’t even need to report because they are so good at getting their adulting jobs done that I feel guilty not getting done or just overlook, like dishes and shampooing. The same 24 hours is all we get and we make choices of what we can do. What we need to do. And what we can’t wait to do, leaving other necessities hanging with futile hopes.
And since this blog is attached to ‘Warts and All’ I’ll start with what hasn’t gotten done. My husband asked me today why I haven’t been playing the uke, recorder, or violin. Well, I thank Mrs. Skinner for this sidetrack path straightener.
When I got sick of practicing piano and ready to quit lessons, she came up with this bait and switch. Forced practice came from Mom. But I adore my teacher. She sent me home with her ukulele. It helped so much in bringing me back to the piano.
So in hopes of keeping my music alive I tried the recorders and strings. And sure enough it worked.
When my dad was in the rest home over a decade ago, the lady in the room next to his played her piano all the time. I decided I wanted to grow up to be her, or Huge Lauri of House fame. He would sit down and just play, no sheet music just music.
I’ve been stuck with eye music since I was 5 years old. My goal this time is to learn to improvise and play. Still, there is so much to learn to get to that stage of free-playing. The other instruments help with learning chords and meandering melodies. And a change of positions. So I need to get back to them sometimes.
Shiloh sleeps waiting for me.
Shiloh makes it hard to skip piano. So I’ll need to plug in other musical play elsewhere in my day.
Scrap socks 1 Milo refuses to look.
Scrap socks 2
Watermelon socks
Blue boho socks. Not much progress for research booklets.
Duo still rides my stationary bike managing a few lessons for the half-hour 4-5 miles on #3 grade. So… There’s that.
I started my revisit to playing the piano at the beginning of October last year.
At that time two of my friends were in the hospital. In my piano journal I mentioned the deep thoughts and how it might affect my “playing”. Three days later one of my friends passed away and I worried the other might join her. Outside of praying there was little I could do.
Birds sing. They just do. Creativity has to happen. Just because.
I think I started before October. But the journey back to the keys got serious then. I started keeping the piano journal then.
I remember trying to figure out how to start.
My friend and I were already working on bringing back our creative muses. She said I should make sure to say ‘play’ not ‘practice’. It has worked.
But when I started back I found I couldn’t play songs I memorized or at least conquered back when I was twelve.
It was embarrassing, depressing, in fact, to even think about some of the songs. And I had to have everyone in the house hide away while I played.
At first I would play for five minutes. My anxiety was so high.
I’d play far easier things or sight read what might be easy.
Early on I looked at the Shirley Temple Songbook and felt that there was no chance I’d get the rhythm. Modern rhythms, syncopation. Bane of my existence.
Well, I finally got brave and started hitting the Songbook.
Yeah, see the drawing at the top right of Early Bird? Mrs. Skinner drew that timing illustration for my 12 year old self. I’m getting it. Sort of 63 years later. Ta Da!
Still missing my Michele. But glad Yvensong is better.
Well, that was a trip. And if it wasn’t interesting in some places, making me think about some ideas expressed, I’d say it was hours I’d never get back.
I want to thank NetGalley for letting me read this one. It was worth the thoughts.
The idea of a machine that could write for you without spell check and fumbling fingers seemed unique, until I realized that the paralyzed people already had that kind of thinking machine.
The Lightning Stenography Device, shortens to LSD. Drug use is implied often. And that kind of lucid writing, as if from an impaired writer, rambles forth. Many deep philosophical views are turned into sagas of gods and angst.
Mostly, this felt like an anthology of short stories tied loosely together. Just not my kind of book.
When I was a girl, I dreamed of shooting the curl. But alas I never learned to surf.
As a child my mother wanted me to have curly hair. She or my aunt gave me perms. Ugh! I hated it! And it took forever to grow out. It wasn’t so much curly as frizzy.
In sixth grade I had a thing for Shirley Temple. I used those pink sponge rollers, or mom would use rags to curl my hair into those ringlets. I loved Ms. Temples songs, shows, and dances.
From Curly Top
My teen years found me using coke, orange juice, or coffee cans as rollers as Cher straight hair was in. I couldn’t find pics, sorry.
A week after high school graduation I started cosmetology classes at the city college. We didn’t learn to use the hot roller. Or blow dryer. Or French braids. We learned pin curls, and finger waves. And pivot rollers. But I loved working with hair and meeting the nice ladies. Long hair was my favorite. Especially wedding looks. But, ugh, long days standing in one place had me in tears every night.
Yes. That’s my new goal. I’m not even curling those. I’m still on the purple ones that look like elongated hair curlers
A Milo pic. Just because. He curls up next to me at night. But stretches out on the cool floor in the heat of dog days.
Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “curl.” Use it as a noun, use it as a verb, use it any way you’d like. Have fun!
Working on my series: Haven.
Doodler (zendoodle.com)
Music major: voice and piano
Mom of four great adults
Reiki II practitioner
I have been on disability/retired for 10 years now from depression, anxiety and fibromyalgia.
Where ancient wisdom meets modern technology. Stories that illuminate the wonders of science, culture, and life — crafted with human creativity and a touch of AI magic.
Call Off The Search by Natasja Hellenthal
Darswords 
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