Sometimes, in the midst of our busy-ness, we forget who we are. Or at least we forget a portion of who we are. I can get so busy writing and publishing and marketing that I forget I was once – and always have been – a musician. Recently I have been so wrapped up in music and rehearsal and assignments that I forgot for a moment I am a writer. In 2020 I rereleased a book (The Pancake Cat) and published a women’s novel. In early 2021 I released a memoir- style women’s novel. While it may seem a phenomenal pace to publish a book every 6 months, it must be noted I had been working on The Pancake Cat for more than two decades; The Right Woman for the Job spanned 40 years of rumination; I lived with The Cemetery Wives for about 25 years. Publication of each of these books was an experiment of sorts – a finishing what I had begun, an edit and polish, a meeting of deadlines, a feeling of my way through independent publishing process – the satisfaction of completion. Yes. I still write. And I still do music. In fact, I got so bogged down with gigs and rehearsals and making charts for an upcoming wedding reception and trying to complete assignments for a Pentatonix arranging class I am taking, that I just played hooky last night and went to the local hot springs with my daughter and friends. – – And it reminded me that I have a work in progress. A post-apocalyptic, steampunk perspective on selfcare – full of euphemism and geology and literary reference.  Here’s a sample chapter to prove I was not just playing hooky – I was actually confirming research.

A High Desert Oasis and Hot Springs

 Up the anticline, down the syncline, Precious trekked on. Finally the path led sharply up and she found herself walking close to the rim of a dark mesa. Basalt, limestone, a smoky valley in the skirt slumping down from the top. Perhaps a blow hole? Steam rising from a hot springs? What a comfort that would be to her tired bones. Precious stepped off trail to the left. She followed a wildlife path toward a ravine. Down she went, ever lower into the canyon until she found coursing water, a small stream not too wide to jump. She bent and felt the water. Warm to the touch. Immediately she turned and followed the stream upwards. Not more than four furlongs later she came to an aperture in the rock – the place the hot spring exited the heart of the mountain. At great temperature, water flowed into a pool about nine feet in diameter. Infrequent passersby had added a small boulder or two, assisting Nature with endeavors to encourage the water – and bathers – to linger before continuing a downward journey. Precious rested her rucksack against a ponderosa pine, doffed her boots, folded her cape and tunic carefully on top her pack and proceeded to disrobe and slip into the water. The dark waters stung her skin. An involuntary shudder and an audible expression of comfort and well-being escaped her lips as the heat permeated to her bones giving stimulation and health, relaxing her muscles, clearing and focusing her thoughts. No wonder the ancient people groups that inhabited this land before the arrival of Europeans had wintered here, used these springs ceremonially. It was definitely a place of healing to Precious. She wanted to stay here forever – to be well always. In actual fact, she stayed only the better part of an hour. She breathed the mineral steam. She absorbed magnesium, calcium, silica, potassium, bicarbonate, sulfides. She soaked muscle and bone to the core. She allowed her mind to relax and cease to churn. She murmured inarticulate tones of gratitude into the mist that cloaked her from time to time. Her mind was an open channel to the Universal Cranium – Peace and quiet descended. She emerged from the water so thoroughly warmed she did not shiver. Precious pulled on clothing layers in leisurely fashion without a chill. She hefted her rucksack and proceeded to climb.