This blog follows how a romance novel set in the Borders of medieval Scotland is researched, written and hopefully *hopefully* published.

Join me on the writing journey and get inspired to try writing a little romance into your own life!

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Too Little Time for Love...

Ugh, I've gotten remarkably little done recently. Okay, sure, I'm getting more ideas to weave into this tale of mine (little details--the minutia of everyday life), but I haven't had time to actually do any more writing and it's driving me nuts.

I do have my reasons, of course. This summer is chock full of travel (including but not limited to the midwest and Europe). And it's full of little tragedies, too. We had to put our dog down about a week ago now because of cancer. I'm still adjusting to the fact that he's gone after only about 7 years.

I'm not having to pick my way as carefully through the halls at night so I don't step on him (he curled up between our room and my child's to sleep and guard), and for a while I kept thinking I saw him out of the corner of my eye, you know, like a shadow hound sitting or sleeping. My husband says he keeps thinking he's just at the kennel and he'll pick him up and bring him home soon. In a way he's right. We should be getting a wooden box filled with his ashes back before next week.

Before we had to deal with the death of our proud protector (who started as a rescued stray from a "dangerous breed" by the way), we also found out that my husband's grandmother was hospitalized. It took the hospital 4 days to determine she had a stroke, not congestive heart failure. When pressed about their inadequacies, a doctor told my mother-in-law, "We've been very busy this week." Well then, this all must be quite understandable, right?

My husband's grandmother has always been a remarkable woman (to me and him especially). She spent her childhood summers working at a family-owned hotel in Pennsylvania and knew at an early age that her father had a regular lover, although he was still married and living with her mother. He even had the audacity to move the family so they would be closer to his lover and he often visited her after work, but before dinner (because a good family man at least eats at home, right?). Grandmom remembers watching her school-age peers ride sleds in a line (they hooked onto each other) that linked to a slow moving car in order to get home from school. She remembers caring for her sister's children (born from different men's wordly contributions to a girl too young to be responsible and really care for them ). She remembers her first kiss and her first apartment in Boston. She remembers her disappointment when her husband led her into a house he claimed he was "considering" and although he knew she didn't like it as much as another prettier house on the same block, he informed her frankly that this would be their home. Or at least she did remember all those things. I haven't seen her since the stroke. I get mixed reports on her health. Someone says it's the meds messing her up, someone says it's underlying dementia. I don't know if seeing her would help, either. Either of us.

She's 87 and I still think I haven't known her nearly long enough. I think that her spirit's still young (like that of my departed dog) and so why shouldn't her body still be? I wonder if no matter how long you live you ever really get your fill of love. My dog wagged his tail at my touch until the injection took affect, and I wonder if I loved him enough for him to glimpse my real feelings for all he brought us as a young family. And I know Grandmom remembers the pain as much as the joy in life. Has she been loved enough? Does she feel fulfilled?

Can you ever truly love and be loved long enough to be satisfied?

Much LOVE,

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