Marion Agnew

Here are five things I'd like to remember from February. Not all pleasant, but notable. One. Sometimes it’s worth going into rooms you don’t go into often, just to make sure there’s no dead bird lying in the floor. It apparently fell down the chimney of a long-unused woodstove. I mean, if it had actually happened, which it did, hypothetically. And I guess come spring it’s worth looking into what happened to the screen over that chimney. Roy says it was an owl. I didn’t look too closely. Two. There may come a day when I don’t enjoy shoveling snow—and for sure if I had to do it more often and for longer sessions than I do, I’d be less enthusiastic—but there’s also something reassuring about accepting snowfall in SOME places (grass, trees, rocks, lake ice) but not HERE or HERE (sidewalk, back deck, front porch). Control, but really an illusion of it, because we all know that the snow’s really in charge here. Three. Two words: finishing sugar. I get it now. I don’t understand why pe...

I didn't celebrate the turn from 2024 to 2025 with champagne at midnight (or anything at midnight beyond snoozing). I'm not against traditional celebrations. They can be fun--I've been to several different kinds of parties and observations of the new year.  Yet some rituals of the new year are always available to me, and I find I'm observing and enjoying them. Paperblanks, ordered from my local bookstore,  along with a well-loved Filofax Folio. For example:  I’ve pulled out folders and written 2025 on them, moving the 2024 information to the “tax stuff” spot Making hard choices from among the plethora of opportunities, I’ve added some events to my calendar for January I’m writing in the new nice notebooks  We’re seeing Christmas cards in our mailbox, which is nice—since the postal strike ended, we’ve received mostly junk, and that’s not nearly as fun I’ve watched (several times a brief video (or several) of someone painting with watercolours That last one is less abo...

Earlier this year I mentioned my gratitude practice, explained (more or less) how it works (more or less), and shared some of the recent specific things that had appeared on my gratitude list at that time.   Six months later, it’s time for more gratitudes. At present, I’m grateful for many of the big-picture items I mentioned in June, plus these specifics, in no particular order: Enough snow that our well is not frozen and may hold its own when spring arrives Life in the country, where we marvel at small birds at the feeder and big birds in the sky, and we watch deer grow from fawns to adulthood People who drive the speed limit (or slower!) in neighbourhoods when they’re driving on ice, even if they’re driving a ginormous truck and think they don’t have to slow down; I doubt that they’re doing it to keep from frightening walkers but that’s a happy side effect Our local bookstore, Entershine Bookshop, which has become an integral part of the local writing and reading community ...

The year is waning, as is the amount of daylight in individual days; both will soon wax again.  Meanwhile, here are some of the sights. Also sites (certainly familiar locations to anyone who follows me on social media). Also sighs, which is what I'd originally typed instead of sights.  The evening sky Because even after twenty years here, ten years in northern Colorado before that, and five years in the mountains of New Mexico before THAT, the first snowstorm--the first REAL one, the first that stays--still daunts me.  But in the space of three or four days, we've now had two. And managed. Here it comes And I continue  my ongoing "wayfinding" efforts . I'm looking for lampposts, bits of joy (also called "glimmers" I think). Recently, I had a great time volunteering with Dementia Cafe (and have the chance to next weekend as well).  Yesterday I saw old bananas in the grocery store and got an urge to make banana bread. Maybe I resemble Simone m ore than I...

Yes, I'm aware that it's already October--we're not even in the FIRST days of autumn anymore. However, the weather is very summer-like (and too dry!), so summer's experiences have been on my mind. Also, September was a full month. Besides extending the summer "I want to be outdoors" feeling as long as possible, I had a couple of events. Early-ish in the month, I shared a book signing with David Giuliano, Marathon-based author of The Undertaking of Billy Buffone (Latitude 46), at Indigo Thunder Bay. It was fun to see friends and spend time in the local branch of the national chain.  I'm on the left Later, I hosted a stop on the Northern Tour for Rod Carley's new novel, Ruff , also from Latitude 46. We had a great chat at the library about all things creativity, Shakespeare, midlife crises, plagues/pandemics, and everything old being new again.  Rod signing copies of Ruff Between and among those events and the regular Activities of Daily Living, I'v...

August held lots of weather. Hot and humid days worthy of June in Oklahoma, cool rainy days hearkening back to April (perhaps? March?) in Oklahoma, and a share of those cool night/bright and sunny days that are so typical of Augusts of my memory. And now it's September, with its "back to school" or even "the other new year" vibe. Certainly my holiday is over--my sister has gone back home to her regular life, the weather is changing further, events are beginning again in town.  AND! Some of those events on the horizon include me! First, on September 17, I'll be doing a joint signing with David Giuliano at Thunder Bay's Indigo location from 11 to 1. We'll share short readings, discuss our books, and sign whatever you like!  David is a fellow Latitude 46 Publishing author. His award-winning novel, THE UNDERTAKING OF BILLY BUFFONE, is set in Marathon and is a satisfying, layered who- and why-dunnit. A former Moderator of the United Church of Canada, he...

We don't garden, exactly, but there's a rosebush on the septic field that produces lovely small blooms in August.  It also gets kind of weedy, and in previous years, I've taken some pruning shears to what appeared to me to be "dead branches." Did I know what I was doing? Nope. Did I do any research? Nah. I was just doing what was obvious. (Narrator: not so obvious.) This year, we had little snow and (in spite of a lot of rain in June), a relatively hot and dryish summer, so our well has been iffy. On occasion, we top it up from the lake, using the pump system at the camp next door.  This year, when I'm not actively putting water from the garden hose into the well (and no, we don't drink the well water), I've been leaving the (somewhat leaky) spray gun on the septic field. I also had the bright idea of leaving it close to the base of the rosebush. And this has been the result!   In case those photos aren't clear, green leaves and some blooms are spr...

Back in September, I mentioned adding a Fitbit into my life and said I'd talk about it some other time . This, apparently, is that time. First, what it is: A Fitbit (like several other brands of sportswatch, I'm assuming) gives you data. It can track steps and types of exercise, as well as specific exercise sessions. The distance you've gone. How much you weigh, how many calories you have burned or should burn based on a goal weight, how restful your sleep was, how mindful you've been (based on their own meditations), and a bunch of other stuff.  A caveat: the data isn't even necessarily especially accurate. I mean, we've all heard stories of people clocking steps while lifting a wineglass, right? So here's a thing: I'm not in training for anything. Other than life, I guess. Sure, I've competed as a swimmer, runner, and triathlete (though not very competitively, if you know what I mean), and I've tried and obsessed over various methods of improvi...

Hi there--things behind the scenes of my wee website overhaul are edging ever-more closely to completion. But things behind the scenes are more complicated, and go more slowly, than one might imagine. Gray Fox on the deck. She hasn't been around much in the past couple of weeks. You'd think I'd have learned all this from watching those home renovation shows through the years. I guess it's different when it's your edifice (virtual or architectural) that they're renovating. It actually doesn't come together in a half-hour. We've had a tepid and muggy summer, when it's not cool and rainy. I've been solving problems right and left (refrigerators, most recently), and not getting outdoors near often enough. However.  On the up side, all the not-writing activities have allowed a seed to germinate. Perhaps. I'm fertilizing it and watching it, and meanwhile, working with it gives me ten or fifteen solid lovely minutes of creativity every day. It's...

I jotted down a few random thoughts during the past week and only as I was readying this post did I realize they all have to do with letting go. (I'm sorry if that gave you an Elsa earworm.) Letting Go of Electronics The first has to do with recycling. I take seriously the "reduce" and "reuse" parts of responsible, ecological living. Still, sometimes, you gotta recycle, which always makes me feel as if I'm getting away with something. Figuring out where to drop electronics, specifically, gives me some exponential version of that feeling. Because sometimes you put random electronic items that are long past their useful life into a box, and only occasionally (once in ten or more years) do you wonder what to do with them.  To be clear, we're not people who go through electronics quickly. No "latest" version of anything in this house. These items weren't just "obsolete" in technology terms; they were actual decades old in human years,...

‘tis the season For bigger jeans. For fuzzy socks and chunky sweaters. For grandparents’ recipes, softened butter and sugar sprinkles. For vanilla and almond, cinnamon and nutmeg, fir and cedar. For darkness, gathering and dissipating. For candles lit and ancient words spoken. For snowflakes. The world in a drop at the end of an icicle. Frost-whiskers on evergreen needles. For friends. Sharing seed with jays and chickadees and squirrels. Cheering on the fox, waving at deer. For looking: back, forward, within. For walking in someone else’s footsteps, lifting the weight of memories. For mornings and mournings, holding them to the light, turning them, letting them go. Goodbye, 2022. 

1. More rocks. Thirty of them, in fact.  Yes, we already had plenty of rocks here. But going over to the beach at our little camp to pick up a rock, and snapping a photo of it, and then bringing it back to sit in a bowl in the kitchen were nice breaks from revising in November.  2. Something I don’t have words for yet, but if I did, one of them might be “ease,” and another might be “soft,“ and another might be “strength.”  I just realized that both “easy” and “soft” are antonyms of “hard.” A better antonym of “ease,” I suppose, is “effort.”  (Welcome to my brain.) In any case, I am feeling a form of strength. With ease and softness. (That sounds like an ad: “Double-concentrated Strength: now with ease and softness!”) Maybe because 2022 held some really difficult (hard) experiences, yet here I am. I imagine/expect/am unbothered by the fact that the future will hold its share of challenges, and I’ll survive those, too.  3. Gratitude (hmm, I say this a lot). I ap...

I'm revising again.  I seem to revise a lot, which is fine -- it's one of the most useful, beautiful, and unpracticed parts of writing, in my opinion.  I also seem to write about revising a lot, which is also okay. September was a full month that included travel myself plus visitors here, plus celebration of love and family. Also: the need for (shudder) mousetraps, plus an empty well.  It was not a "perfect" month, not that I know what that really is. It held moments I wanted to embrace, others I wanted to sustain, and still others that I was happy to release. Now I turn my attention to revising a project that's been close to my heart for a long time. Being me, I want it to be imperfect. It will not be. So I'm looking around. Down and up. And I'm finding beauty -- and imperfection, even IN imperfection -- everywhere. Like this. golden birch leaves, sporting holes and generally appearing crumpled, lie on the dirt A reddened leaf curls un-picturesquely; behi...

I'm enjoying a hit-or-miss kind of September. Lots of hits of family and new experiences; lots of misses of being in my "upstairs office," doing work at the computer. I'll be back sometime later this month. Until then, enjoy. Rocks under water

The wee scene below caught my eye the other day, when it wasn’t raining and I was out for a walk A small yellow weedy wildflower grows through a crack in the asphalt. It made me laugh because it’s begging to be an inspirational poster on the wall of some business conference room. Then I started wondering which word it would illustrate. Persistence? Inevitability? Endurance? Imperfection? Maybe a phrase. “Allow space to grieve,” or “You can grow anywhere you want,” or “Imperfection is where the good stuff happens.” And of course, an obvious choice: “Nevertheless, she persisted.” Nevertheless. Love it. So. Perhaps, just perhaps, there isn’t one perfect word or phrase for this photo. The “right” phrase depends on your perspective. And there are millions of those. I hope you’re enjoying your Wednesday, whether you’re the weed, the asphalt, the observer, the sun, or a fawn who’d like a little snack while crossing the street.

I've been thinking a lot about grief lately. I imagine we all have. All of us humans. Eight years ago, I took my cute boots out in the canoe. We had fun.  Whether we are or aren't "coming out of the pandemic," we have definitely been IN one, and that has held grief. Birthdays missed. Hell, births missed. Deaths, too. All kinds of celebration of life.  As society changes, in whatever way it changes in the next 2.5 years, those changes can cause new pain.  Perhaps I didn't have a "productive" stretch during the pandemic. Perhaps I have redefined "productive" and live a far happier life, more connected to things that matter. Perhaps I have merely survived. No "merely" about it, though. In any case, I am considering today whether I (and we, as a society) have been misunderstanding grief. It's not like I haven't experienced it before, and I know more grief lies in the days ahead.  As does more joy. Make no mistake, I know that, too...