6+14 – lake and words and little house

23:11 tapping into my phone. Am locked out of my computer. Wiped it in hopes of restoring from backup. Just one problem: turns out I have also lost backup drive password.

Six years of writing disappeared into ether. Along with four months of family photos (the rest had been stored on a backup backup, thank goodness for that at least). Don’t see the point in saying much about how devastated I am.

This morning at the lake, there sky was palest blue with white feathered clouds brushing outward from the forested hills. The water’s sheen was rosy, the air was moist, I saw the trees were mostly still green with only slight palings to yellow or rust here and there. I looked up, branches of poplar hung above my head, I inhaled deeply and could smell their sweetness.

A new man relaxing in a chair on the path, watching over three fishing lines, nodding as I passed beneath the poplars.

A regular walker, a burly man with weathered skin, had greeted me with cheek kisses for the first time the other day. Just days before that, his friend/acquaintance had greeted me with a handshake. We’ve walked this path for over a year with only hellos and nods. Now it’s handshakes and cheek kisses, depending on the man. Some unseen change in the fall winds.

The handshake man has an honest and forthright air. I like him. The cheek-kiss man has an edgy dog who sometimes snaps at the kids if she smells fear.

At home, tidied kitchen then started a fire. We heat our house by wood stove. Our first fire this season was September 7th. We had a cold snap then, followed by a warm spell. Now it has gotten chilly again. I love the drowsy heat the stove gives off and the merry crackling of wood behind the glass pane of the door. Makes me want to sleep for a(n) hundred years.

Groceries; had forgotten my credit card; so after picking up the boys for lunch had to drive all the way back home with them to get it.

Feel like I’m losing my mind sometimes. Bought the grocery store cashiers each a small bouquet of flowers for having to put up with my ridiculousness. They seemed somewhat mollified.

Lost since the beginning of my nervous breakdown: camera (—that was oddly while I lay near a river ten days or so ago). House key. Computer password. Recovery password. My work from the past six years. Credit card.

But credit card found. One thing that is easily replaceable. Still, very glad. Convenient access to funds is nice.

After paying for the cart full of groceries that had been laid aside for me along with a piece of my ID (though I have shopped there for ten years), picnic lunch with the kids by the lake. Fresh French bread, slabs of smoked salmon and brie, sandy lettuce. All of us silent at last, grateful for this simple pleasure.

Part of the rest of the day, when not spent cooking, cleaning or driving, was spent looking through paper journals from six years ago, searching for clues as to what my backup password might have been. In that same storage area, I found the journal I’d written when I was fifteen. Abruptly in September that year, it stopped.

I’d experienced a “trauma” shortly after that, and around the same time, some family members read my diary. One of them ridiculed me for it.

I was mostly mentally blocked from journalling for nearly two decades after that.

The trauma had happened in October, all those years ago. I feel like something about practicing constant sobriety, as well as something about the perceived harassment I experienced via my WP blogs, is causing me to relive it.

When I went outside to fetch a large log to bank the fire with for the night, the air was soft and mild and navy blue. The moon was a silver lemon drop.

The book I’m reading with the younger kids these evenings is Farmer Boy, by Laura Ingalls Wilder. I’d read her “Little House” books as a child, but not Farmer Boy, which is about her husband’s childhood instead of her own. It’s fascinating to read about life on a large farm, one hundred and fifty years ago.

That part of the day, when I sit on a bed in the kids’ room, with one quiet child snuggling under each arm, warm and dry and clean, and the words of some other writer crossing time to reach us, has become my favourite time of the day.

Words can act as a time machine. We need awareness in the present moment to appreciate them.

Sobriety and release from obsession with any other addictive thing gives us that awareness, and the ability to truly move forward if we dare. For that I am grateful.

Thank you for all your encouragement and wonderful words. They often bring me comfort when I need them most.


Vision and faith,

xo Nadine

~ sobrietytree

(Nts: Publishing after midnight; tapping takes me a while)

[Edit: fixed random boldfacing which seems to have been some kind of tapping error.]

12 thoughts on “6+14 – lake and words and little house

  1. If you meet me on the pathway you’ll get a hello, a big smile and a hug.
    I’m at a loss for words with the lost collection of things. Relatable.
    Your image of bedtime reading sounds wonderful. Enjoy those moments.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. “When I went outside to fetch a large log to bank the fire with for the night, the air was soft and mild and navy blue. The moon was a silver lemon drop.”

    That’s a really beautiful and evocative description.

    I’m sorry about the loss of your writing, and I hope you still manage to recover it!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Hi Nadine so much I’d like to say but probably not the most appropriate space to say it. I will say that this is another emotive and moving post. I think I tend to write from my head so I love to read from someone who writes from the heart. That’s you.
    Jim x

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Sorry about your data loss, Could a computer professional somehow extract the data? There is little that I’ve written that I haven’t blogged, so as long as WordPress doesn’t delete me, I’m backed up. The time with little ones reading is truly one of the best memories of my life. First the picture books, then the easy readers, then the chapter books. Each stage was wonderful. I wish they’d sit down with me now and let me read to them.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much Jeff… means a lot. I have possible good news, my husband may have fixed things. I’ll likely find out by tomorrow!! Very happy about the possibility.
      Love the way you describe the reading progression. I feel the same; I wish the older kids would let me read to them too.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh good so it’s not just me then! 😄 I’m so happy T is fixing it (although also not-so-secretly blaming him a little, since he was the one who got me to change all the passwords and make them hard to guess! 😉😉 I was quite the fan of the simple-and-same password across all devices 😂)

      Liked by 1 person

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