quoting:

the tree thing continues .....

"It's never too late -- in fiction or in life -- to revise."  Nancy Thayer

Yellowstone!

Yellowstone in the Mist

The day we visited Yellowstone the weather was sunny, but cold.  The hot pots turned into swirling vats of steam.  Here my family -- and the family traveling with us -- pose on the far side of two parallel walk ways.  (Except the mamas.  We're taking pictures.)

This image fits perfectly tonight's quote:  "How many cares one loses when one decides not to be something, but to be someone."  -- Coco Chanel

elk are freaky

this thing is massive, even though it doesn't look it

If you've never heard an elk call, check it out.  So Amazingly Freaky.  The elk pictured above is the first animal we encountered upon entering the park.  It didn't bugle, sadly, but thanks to the wonders of Youtube I was able to find one that happily did.  The first time I heard an elk I thought it had throat cancer or something.  The sound they make still surprises me, every time.  You would think such a large animal would have a much deeper voice ....

both sides of the same coin

You're likely most familiar with this shot of the Tetons.  It's the eastern face, the one you pass driving south out of Yellowstone toward Jackson, Wyoming.

But the second pic is the view I see most often: from the west.  All that white under the signature peak looks like clouds ... but it's snow, frosting a great, rounded mound of earth butting up against the mountains.

If you ever visit Targhee ski resort in summer, take the tram to the top.  You'll have a stunning view of the landscape as it builds toward the western side of Grand Teton.  But if you poke among the rocks you'll find endless fossils of small shells and sea plant life.  Quoi!  Ocean remnants are everywhere!

During this trip our daughter had a friend, who is fluent in French, in the car.  As we drove past the Tetons she laughed and laughed.  I asked: what?  She said:  "Grand Teton means 'big tits'.  And Gros Ventre means 'big belly'."  Yes, the areas around Yellowstone were named by lonely, hungry French trappers....

Moonset

The morning we left for Yellowstone dawned a chipper 23 degrees.  The moon was setting just as the sun rose, and it made for an incredible shot through the aspen trees growing near our front porch. 

Why is it the moon always looks so much bigger in person than through a camera's lens????

Anytime of day where the moon is visible is my favorite time of day.  I always find myself wishing we had two moons, or more.  It would be so cool to see a whole string of them draped across the sky ... though I'm sure it would wreak havoc on the tides.

Yellowstone IS OPEN! AT LAST!!

Note my new, graphically pure blog page!


We're heading up to Yellowstone tomorrow.  Autumn is incredible there, and it's promising to be a picture-perfect weekend.  So come Sunday, you'll be seeing a lot of awesome, hopefully way pre-caldera pics!

Cheerio until then!

Being

"Life
is not
measured
by the number
of breaths we
take

but
by the
moments
that take our breath
away. "

This is how I feel, exactly, about my new book, Being.  It takes my breath away.  Maybe it's crazy to say that out loud, but that's okay.  Being began twelve years ago with one, solitary image of megaliths on a moonlit night in France.  Since then it has blossomed into so much more.

It is a is a ghost story.  A love story.  A story of good intentions gone horribly wrong.   And most wonderfully, the story of why the universe wastes nothing.

potentially being

creepy sidewalk art

The other day, my daughter and her friend drew ghost-faces on our driveway with sidewalk chalk.  Then it rained and rained and rained.  This image didn't wash completely away ... in fact, the rain improved it.  I love it's creepy quality so much I might just use it as the cover for BEING.

I'd call it: A Thing for Trees

a favorite tree

I love trees.  I love the idea that they reach into the sky as far as they reach into the ground.  They define grace and balance.  Trees are metaphors for just about everything good in life.

There's a line in my soon-to-be-released book, Being, that goes like this:


The word sounds like wind in bare, near-dead trees. 

Being is a ghost story, btw.  It's fabulous, but I know.  I'm biased. :-)

This tree, which sits at the top of a knoll and has a trunk as broad as a semi-truck trailer, inspires me every time I see it.  In its presence I'm tempted to raise my arms and twirl -- like Sarah in A Little Princess does when she feels her magic come back to her.

I'd call it: Twilight

Twilight in Idaho

Tonight I've been working on my interview for my upcoming blog-tour stop with Reading in Twilight.  She has a very cool-looking blog, and I like her review style.  Look to see Painted Boots there on November 14th!

I'd call it: SNOW MINIONS

snow minions

We have one of those cool laser flashlights with an assortment of spiro-graph attachments, so tonight I'm posting a picture of the wretched snow minions my daughter and I made out of the wretched snow we received over the weekend.  As you may have noticed, I am NOT ready for winter.  Ugh!

Still, I'll admit that the minions are quite spritely in funky green light.

I'd call it: Chicken Finale

What struck me most was the feet.  I couldn't believe how big they were in comparison to the chicken . . . or how ugly.  If you don't believe birds descend from dinosaurs, just look at their feet.  Hideous.  Disgusting.  Claw-like.  Scaly.

Imagine these wretched feet three stories high, stomping through the tropics as they forage for food, striking fear into the hearts of herbivores everywhere.

Chicken feet are the stuff of nightmares.

Then there's the way the ghastly things look at you.  Their eyes are beady.  Fixed.  Hard.  And always orange.  If you're wearing something shiny, you're screwed.  The little beasts will peck at you like there's no tomorrow, trying to steal your buttons or dangling earrings or in my case, camera.

Their eyes are a proverbial blank slate--yet sinister.  These birds care only for dominance.  This one was the queen bee bird of the flock and as a result, it had tail feathers.  The other two birds present had a rudely exposed and highly unattractive chicken butt.

Miss Dominance, who is affectionately called Buttons, never shied from the chance to let us know she's boss.  I can still feel where she pecked me. . . .

Ah, the comb.  Or in this case, the lack thereof.  If there's one thing giving these birds personality it's the weird thing atop their head.  No two breeds share the same design.  In roosters, combs are status symbols--a sign of male supremacy.  (It's always something, right?)  But in these female birds the comb seemed like just one more thing to peck at.

 Will I ever own a chicken?  NO NO NO.  I'm breathing-impaired just from being shut in a room with them for two hours.  And giving up an sixty minutes every day to clean a coop is not exactly my style.

Still, it was fascinating to learn about them .. and to come face-to-face with three of them for a while.  Are they stupid?  Maybe.  But birds have been around a lot longer than humans.  No doubt their kind will be around for a long time after.

I'd call it: Super Frustrated

I found another Caldera Calling Card today -- a crack in the wall beneath our bedroom window.  Ugh!

More frustrating is the fact that BLOGGER seems to be seized by a brain cramp.  So I apologize for the never-changing side-bar info that up until yesterday, was changing without hassle. 

I'd call it: Clouds, A Sneak Peek, and Deeply Loved Babies

today's sky

I spent ten years writing my next novel, BEING.  It's due out in February--though I almost chose not to publish it at all.  Five years ago I sent it off to an editor in Brooklyn and the copy--a beautifully printed-out hard copy of the manuscript--was lost in the mail.  For months afterward I imagined the worst: someone stole it, my ideas were compromised, my beloved characters were betrayed.  I put the story aside.

But BEING was inspired by one of the most striking landscapes I've ever seen -- the monoliths of Carnac in the light of a full moon.  The image kept coming to me: in dreams, while cooking, in the garden.  It seemed the story resented that I'd put it in time-out in the back of my top dresser drawer.  So I reworked the plot, adding depth and twists and surprises.  And it was worth it.

BEING is an adventurous ghost story, the tale of just how wrong things can get when love lasts forever.  It's funny and sad and surprising and I think it's fabulous . . . but I know we all think this of our babies.

Stay tuned for previews!