Browsed by
Author: Anne Cassidy

Overstuffed

Overstuffed

Comments 0 Comment

As in a cushy chair or ample love seat.

Or a wicked stepsister’s foot in a delicate glass slipper.

Or a bag of leaves crammed to bursting (as I look over a backyard full of leaves that need cramming).

Or a two bushel baskets of gourds in one bushel basket.

Overstuffed is how I felt last night after the turkey, dressing (two types), mashed potatoes (two types), green beans (two types), corn, cranberry sauce, roasted brussels sprouts and cauliflower, roasted root vegetables, autumn slaw and rolls.

And that was before the apple crumble, chocolate cookies and pumpkin praline pie.

Maybe no eating today?

Gratitude

Gratitude

Comments 0 Comment

Gratitude is best when it’s specific. So herewith, a list:

The volunteer red maple tree is the far corner of the yard.

The view out the conference room window at dawn.

Copper with a day-glo orange ball in his mouth.

The sound of Drew’s voice on the phone.

Celia humming as she sautés onions.

The light on the carpet in the living room.

The Air Force band playing their song at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.

The stuffing in the oven and the coleslaw in the fridge.

The pumpkin praline pies in the car.

Family gathering from far and wide.

Groaning Board

Groaning Board

Comments 0 Comment

Little chance of this groaning board giving way, but it is quite full as I lay out the ingredients for my contribution to the Thanksgiving feast. Pumpkin, spices, brown sugar and condensed milk for the pie. Onions, celery, bread crumbs, wild rice, pecans and butter for the stuffing. And — new this year — red cabbage, dates, cilantro and more pecans for “autumn coleslaw.”

As I type the list, I take mental inventory. Do we have enough butter? Enough broth? I foresee another trip to the grocery store.

All to make this groaning board … groan a little more.

For Sale

For Sale

Comments 0 Comment

In my block of Folkstone, houses seldom change owners. The neighbors across the street and on each side of us have been here for decades, and many others for years. It’s the exact opposite of the transient neighborhood I thought I’d find outside D.C.  The government may change every four or eight years, but the suburbs where I live are pretty darn stable.

In the beginning, we were even more close-knit, with a pool party on the last day of school, caroling at Christmas, and birthday dinners throughout the year. That dwindled as the children grew up, but there are still occasional get-togethers and plenty of impromptu conversations at the corner or wherever dogs (and their owners) congregate. 
All of which is to say that when neighbors move away — the owners of this house are embarking today on their long-planned escape to Hawaii — a little bit of Folkstone leaves with them. 
Bird Bath

Bird Bath

Comments 0 Comment

It doesn’t take long for nature to make its presence felt. Even a 10-minute escape from the office, enough time for a walk around the building, finds sun and breeze and sparrows splashing in a fountain.

These little guys look for handouts from lunching office workers. They roost in the hedges that line the street. They are urban birds, tough critters who’ve learned to fend for themselves.

Maybe these birds had the same idea I did — to escape their daily routine for a few minutes; to take a break from pecking for food, preening their feathers and building their nests  (though I doubt they’re doing that this time of year).

I like that they took one thing (a public fountain) and made it their own. I hope their hearts, like mine, were gladdened to be awake and alive at that moment in time.

NoFiWriMo?

NoFiWriMo?

Comments 0 Comment
November is National Novel Writing Month, NaNoWriMo, 30 days in which
would-be novelists are encouraged to apply their bottoms to chairs and produce
50,000 words. A contrivance, true, and one I was originally tempted to
disparage. A novel in a month? Really?
But when I thought about it, I realized I was probably more
envious than anything else. Where is the NaNoWriMo for nonfiction writers?
NoFiWriMo? Don’t we also need to apply our
behinds to chairs? Don’t we also need writing places like Come Write
In (a feature of NaNoWriMo, which I realize has now become an industry)? Aren’t our tortured souls also
yearning to Finish Something?
Of course, nothing is stopping me from signing up for
National Novel Writing Month and writing, say, a memoir. Nothing except the sheer terror of having to produce it, of course. And since it’s already November 17, I would have to crank out thousands of words a day to make the 50,000 word deadline.

No, thanks …  I’ll  just keep writing the old-fashioned way, word by word, page by page … blog post by blog post. 

Seeing Stars

Seeing Stars

Comments 0 Comment

It was warmer this morning than the last few days, high 40s. Reason to pull on tights, sweatshirt and reflective vest, grab the flashlight and take a pre-dawn walk.

The crescent moon was out, the one that lets you see a faint image of the rest of the orb, like an eyeball pulsing beneath an almost-closed lid.

But that’s not what caught my attention. It was the stars.

I noticed them on the return, when I felt comfortable enough in the dark to look up. And there they were, so far away, so bright, so essential. I took a mental snapshot, have them with me now in the fluorescent-lit office, where I’ve found a quiet, unlit corner to write these words, to try and see stars again.

(Photo: Wikipedia)

The Green Chair

The Green Chair

Comments 0 Comment

When the children were young and needed a time out, they were sent to an out-of-the-way place in a corner where they could cool down and ponder their misdeeds. We called it (in a fit of creativity!) … the green chair.

Not a green chair, but the Green Chair, a place of banishment and shame. Cue the Dragnet theme, add the moans and excuses of  misbehaving children. “But Mommy, I didn’t mean to  …” And factor in the exhaustion of a parent trying to write magazine articles while her young children played underfoot.

It’s been years since the green chair held a squabbling, out-of-control preschooler. Now it’s for a different type of confinement. It’s where I sit if I have a deadline or phone interview when I’m working at home; it’s my go-to spot for complete concentration.

I almost never scream and cry there, but I do get something done. In fact, if there wasn’t already a Green Chair … I would have to invent one.

Autumn Snapshots

Autumn Snapshots

Comments 0 Comment

Fall moves quickly now. Leaves shiver on the branch or drift to the ground, lingering in the ivy, gathering  around the trunks of trees.

The exposed ones lie flat on the wet pavement. Maybe they’re playing dead, thinking that if they don’t move a muscle I won’t see them, will pass them by.

No chance of that.

In from the Cold

In from the Cold

Comments 0 Comment

The ferns came in 10 days ago,  the cactus mid-week, and one big pot of begonias a few nights ago. The plants that bloomed and thrived for almost six months on the deck are now huddled by the fireplace or hogging the light of the two small basement windows.

And it’s good that they are, because over the weekend came a killing frost, a hard freeze that nipped the dogwood leaves left on the tree, shriveling them overnight. The begonias
still standing on Saturday morning took a a graceful bow as the day progressed and by Sunday morning had folded and fallen.

If autumn is a gentle reminder of our own fragility, a hard freeze is mortality’s slap in the face. So, even though I’ve been expecting it, even though it’s overdue, this shift of seasons leaves me vaguely melancholy. No wonder we plan feasts for these dark hours, one day for gratitude, another to celebrate the light and our hope in its return.