Hemingway-Pfeiffer - grace grits and gardening

Last week I joined a blogging group that provides a weekly writing prompt. This week’s prompt is Decision…

It took me all week to decide what decision to write about…

Yes, there are those huge life-altering decisions such as saying ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to will you marry me? Or the decision to change jobs or buy a home. The decision whether or not to have children.

But sometimes the smallest decisions have the most profound results.

Like the decision to attend a creative writing retreat in Piggott, Arkansas—knowing no one, yet connecting with two ladies who have become friends and writing mentors.

Pat, Dorothy, Me

Spending an hour wandering through an antique store, looking at Fiestaware and vintage earrings and hand embroidered linens, I barely noticed an old Nancy Drew book. The blue tweed cover had a stain much like candle wax on the front which added to the character. The Ghost of Blackwood Hall.

I shouldn’t buy any more old books. But it needed me. And I needed it.

This $5 purchase of an old Nancy Drew book led me to its original owner, May ‘Babe’ Brightwell who lives in Maryland. This spur-of-the-moment purchase opened a different door leading to a path with new folks. A family with new stories. (For the original blog story, click HERE.)

Sometimes the smallest decisions…

talya

Musical Pairing:

A Million Miles from Nowhere, Brook Benton

The Downtown Inn B&B
Piggott, Arkansas

Everyone brings something different to the table. Literally. For the past week we have gathered each morning around the antique table in the dining room at the Downtown Inn in Piggott, Arkansas. We came to the writer’s retreat from various places with different levels of writing experience, assorted backgrounds and unique viewpoints. We leave as friends.

Brenda, our amicable host, provides an amazing breakfast each morning – scrambled eggs with bacon, breakfast casseroles and breads, fresh fruit with cream, biscuits and gravy, hot coffee and orange juice – something different every day. She wears a red toile apron and is the organized sister who makes certain we start each day with the most important meal. And a prayer. And a laugh. In only one week, we are a family.

Brenda

We discuss the prior day’s writings, our plans for the next day and the train that runs beside the Inn, so near the bed vibrates like a New Madrid earthquake several times each night. The whistles disrupt sleep, but less so as the week passes. Brenda says a first timer guest reports the train passed by “twenty-two times in the night” but a few days later only twice. We acclimate.

Families don’t eat together anymore, not regularly. When I think about the conversations we have had over a few days at the table in Piggott with complete strangers, I realize all the conversations missed not eating as a family because of working late or soccer practice or Dancing with the Stars.

I’ve met seven wonderful ladies this week at the Hemingway-Pfeiffer Creative Writer’s Retreat along with a few good men. Each person brought something a little different to share. I will miss these ladies and the uninterrupted time I’ve had to write.

Today is our last day. Tomorrow I return to eating power bars for breakfast. We came to the table as strangers. We leave as friends.

talya

Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.