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Anybody Any Minute

Anybody Any Minute by Julie MarsTonight I set aside the book I’ve been trying to struggle through (Wreck and Order) and picked up one of my recent library check outs.

This book, called Anybody Any Minute, is about a woman who impulsively buys an old run down farm house (on a credit card!).  She tells her husband she is going to spend the summer there.

So far she has moved into the farm house and has had a whole chain of bad things happening.  Not BAD bad, but the sort of bad things you would expect from a farmhouse that has sat empty for 7 years.  Including leaky roofs and resident bats.

She has lived in New York for all of her adult live, and thrived off the hustle and bustle of the city.  Her first weekend at her new house she has no electricity, no phone (set in the early 90s, cell phones were not a prevalent thing), no running water.  She can’t even just use the toilet!  And her husband, a man of routine, isn’t answering his phone!

From the characters I’ve met so far in this book I think I’m going to like it a lot.

I like “fix it” stories.  And this one sort of runs parallel to what i want in my life right now.  A farmhouse and some land, leaving the city behind, leaving my life, as it currently is, behind.

Since I just started reading I’m not sure how this tale will end.  Will she go home to her husband and the city?  Will her husband come to live with her at her new farm house?  Will the couple end up splitting up amicably?

Clearly she needed some distance from her husband, though they love each other.  They have had a rocky marriage, but have made it work for so long, will it really just fizzle out?

I’m kind of hoping he will end up shrugging off his own city life and coming to love her new home and coming to live with her.

But until I find out I’m looking forward to watching this city girl find her way in this small town, with its local inhabitants, as she tries to find her place in the town, and in the world.


Saturday Morning: A Snapshot


The Mushrooms in my yard are loving the wet weather.

8:30 AM Saturday morning.  I’m here, standing in the bathroom.  Looking out the window.


The world is raining.  Outside the world is grey and green and white.  Bright white heads peeping up out of the wet green grass.

Mushrooms have marched into my yard, soaking up the water.  They show up so fast you wonder if they do move on their own.  Do they dance when you’re not looking.  Jumping, twirling.  Celebrating the warm dampness in which fungi thrive?

One here.  One there.  Three in a row.  Lined up biggest to smallest.  Smallest to biggest.

A Toadstool family.

But no circles.  The Faeries have not visited this night.

Behind me a little person.  A little voice.

“No.  No no.  No no no no no.”

My son, still in his pajamas, still warm and smelling like sweet baby sleep.

“That’s right,” I tell him, “No no.”

He’s not supposed to play in the bathroom.

There is coffee in the kitchen, and food.  Breakfast.  I want coffee but I don’t want to leave.  The mushrooms are captivating and I still have a dream clinging to my head, my shoulders, my soul.

I think about calling in sick to work.  Staying home.  Watching the rain.  Watching the mushrooms.

Waiting on the faeries to dance in the overly tall grass in my yard.

I remember a poem I read once in which a woman sat in her bathroom as a retreat, spinning her empty toilet paper roll like a spirit drum.

I ponder a bubble bath, I ponder a book.  A nap maybe.  A vacation.

I can’t remember what I dreamed, and my stomach growls.

There is a day out there, waiting for me to join it.

It is louder outside, in the family room.  There are more people.  Big people.  Small people.  A television.  A video game.  A hug, a smile, a kiss.

And coffee.

But not serenity.  No green grass.  No white mushrooms.

No promise of faerie rings.

Just life.