Home...

I agree with Dorothy, there is nothing like it -- no, "There's no place like home." Our arrivals were staggered this time, as we were stranded in various airports for days on end. Still, no matter how exhausted, I find that coming home keys me up and it takes at least a day to settle down. Then a crash. Catching up on rest and then soaking up all the comforts. After which comes a flurry of cooking favorite recipes, and then...

Suddenly there are "stirrings" coming from the study. Better see what the muses are up to in there. Ah, it looks delightfully the same (many thanks to Pops for that new little deck outside my door, all enclosed and private, just waiting for me to bring in pots and plants and tables for tea). But -- oh, dear -- what have the rest of you been doing in here all this time?

"We're planning a launch party," says Ann. "Good of you to show up for it."

A launch party. Hmm. Last year, when I came home, it was merely her very own blog. And I distinctly remember it was supposed to be supervised in case she got into trouble with any of the... umm... technicalities.

"Oh, no need to worry about that." (this from the Professor) "I've dropped by several times, already, and she's got quite the atmosphere going over there. Wouldn't you say so, Ann?"

"It's like a miniature trip to Africa, if you ask me. But then that's all part of the launch. She does make a wonderful blended juice drink for anyone that stops by. Exotic fruits and all that. I should probably mention that she had to borrow a few things from over here, but I didn't think you'd mind."

Well, I suppose it's all in the family.

"She had to spend a bit more money than we expected, too." Ann seems to be looking over the books with some concern, now.

What? A brand new, top of the line computer with all the --

"It is the first book with her name on it. What if they want another? She couldn't go limping along on that used one that was always breaking down."

"I agree," says the Professor. "It will help her to keep better track of things. Speaking of which, I lost track of those blasted kids you sent over, again. Haven't the slightest idea where any of them ran off to."

Ah... there's no place quite like home.

What's happening on the farm today: There is an eerie silence around the place. Tragedy has struck the Peabody family, and only two have survived. They were mercifully rescued by one of the neighbors when they were still chicks. I'm sure they will never even know they were Peabodys. The goats are being cared for on another farm, too. It seems it has been a terribly mean, hot summer. Well... we shall see what we can make of it...

Blog Party...

I have decided to celebrate. 

"I suppose we should, considering just having you show up around here has become something of an occasion."

Yes, but I notice none of you have been sitting around twiddling thumbs, which is as it should be. What else are muses for, if not to dream up inspirations for me to contemplate? I never leave you without jobs to do, and I see you've all been more than busy in my absence. Lilly particularly. Bit bold of you launching your own blog, Lilly -- what if someone actually reads it?

"My book is finished and we're launching, even if I have to hire a band of Madagascar Pirates to help me."

I believe it is my book, and a band of pirates wouldn't be any help at all. That's what we have professionals for. I suggest you leave it in the hands of the professionals and get on with your next project. Where did we leave off with that one? Oh, yes... the husband isn't away on business after all, he's really off doing murder...

"A bit too dark for my liking, and I'm not that fond of the hero. He's always showing up with sand on his feet. Or tinkering with something. Nothing but a beach bum most of the time."

Only because his hero-moment hasn't arrived, yet. Those moments can change a person, you know. I'm fascinated by how much we are shaped by our emotional moments. Still, you might have a point about him not being appealing enough. Keep working on it. There has to be something magnetic about him somewhere. He's hero material, I'm sure of it. Farther back in his past, maybe... something he did once that might give us a clue...

And in the meantime, quit enticing the Professor away from his work to help you with yours. I'm about ready for the second installment of the Young Scientifics, and I'll need that invention he's working on. 

"It could be coming along much faster, my dear, if you would do something with all these kids. They're making  havoc of my laboratory. And what's this blasted pulley system these two new rascals are tinkering with? The other day, they were hauling explosives up and down with it."

Only because I'm coming up to the finish line with them and things are on a roll. But don't worry, Professor, they've turned into young knights, now. You can at least trust them to fix whatever they break. Which is more than a lot of young people can guarantee these days. I'm about ready to send them over to Ann for some necessary clean-up, anyway. Sometime in June.

"You're scheduled to be traveling in June."

Yes, which is why we're celebrating. It's finally time to get ready for Cousin Summers. The rest of our projects are on schedule and you've all done a splendid job of keeping a warm fire burning in the study all this time.  And don't think I haven't noticed the web sites, Lilly. They do inspire me. Just remember to let me know if anyone real happens by, or we'll all lose our credibility. What's this, Ann -- treats?

"You said it was a party."

And so it is.

What's happening on the farm today: Working hard at the dairy. We are up to having enough milk for the day, and looking forward to yogurt and cheese. Pops is busy getting everything automated for while we are away, so that caretaker labor can be minimal. Meanwhile, the Peabody family continues to contribute over a dozen eggs a day. Every day! Which now pays the feed bill for our other stock , too. Ah... finally, the dream begins to become reality.

Real voice...

My days seem to be getting longer and longer, while my weeks and months are passing by like a runaway train. Hmmm… now, let’s see, where were we? Ah, yes, the bones…

I am still marveling over the bones of this new story. In the past, I would have sailed on toward the finish of the rough draft as if some sort of bomb threat were imminent. Driven might be a better word for it. Where does that come from? I am now convinced that it is one of the many intruding voices that authors are deluged with. It is not THE voice. The real voice never drives. It is more quiet, gentle, and easy to get in touch with. And it always invites us to "regard and consider" rather than "do this!" or "do that!" It has more respect for our talents, perspectives, and experiences: those things that make us truly unique individuals. It knows we have the capacity to create a story no one else can write. One that might possibly encompass the world if we are wise enough to "regard and consider" it.

The true voice for a writer is the one that inspires a partnership in great things. The one that says, "Let’s think on this a little longer. Look closer – there’s a treasure hidden for you in there." It is a good voice. To listen to it never makes you tired. It never fills you with regret. Most of all, it doesn’t desert you on some dead-end path to feel your own way out through the darkness, encountering any number of horrors along the way.

So, I am thinking about the bones. Of structure. Yes, and (as I said last time) the individuality of them, and the way all the joints fit together to benefit the whole, and the beautiful harmony of all the parts – the very craftsmanship of a working skeleton is beyond me. My eyes have gone over the whole thing countless times, and surely it must be time to go on.

Yet the voice keeps telling me to "Look closer, there’s a treasure for you there!" So, I agree. And continue to wonder what could be more fascinating about bones other than the way they – if fit together properly – are capable of moving so beautifully. Ah, but wait… perhaps there is some secret hidden in the bones themselves. And it isn’t until I take the time to actually look inside that the "secret" is finally revealed to me.

The secret of the bones… the secret of the bones… good heavens! The secret of the bones is that they are WHERE THE BLOOD IS MADE.

And where there is blood there is life.


What’s happening on the farm today: Beautiful day – a harbinger of summer. The horses have been allowed out onto a small piece of the prairie, where they are gorging themselves on grasses that have grown naturally and without the aid of chemicals or machines. Whenever I go out to check on them they glance up with concern. "You’re not going to make us go back home, yet, are you?" their eyes say. "Because we are not ready!"