Author, mother, grandmother, and former teacher - Annie Taylor has three decades of writing in a variety of forms. She has written manuals, speeches, books, and sales brochures. Annie travels the US in her RV obsessively writing.
Sometimes Life is Literal Poop
Sometimes Life is Full of Literal Poop I paused at the end of the long winding gravel driveway contemplating the farm I had chosen for the first night of camping in this new phase of my life. Due to a change in circumstance two years ago, I made the decision to camp across North America full time. I planned my new adventure over two years with budgeting, travel apps, and memberships, trial run rental campers, a few weeks here and a few weeks there. Today was the first day of my newly chosen lifestyle. I finagled a spot at a sheep farm in rural Maryland using my new Harvest Host membership which allows for free camping on farms, wineries, breweries, and museums. The driveway wound up a long sloping hill through several paddocks of fluffy white sheep. It looked perfect. And safe.
Flashback to 1980
This Thursday night in July, the air felt cool, moist with a green feeling. The stars twinkled under a clear night sky. I breathed the clean, fresh after-park air and a little exhaustion left my body. I now had enough energy to make the half-hour drive home. I lived only thirteen miles away but it is a full thirty-minute drive through Lebanon, Ohio.
I feel like Matt Damon living on Mars growing potatoes. Since August 2020, my human contact could be counted on both hands. That is seven months with text messages, a few video calls, five distanced lunches outside, and the occasional “I forgot something” in/out visit from my son. I am living with cancer, one lung, and trying to stay alive. My days pass in quiet, living in a small apartment sheltering from the pandemic.
Cut Grass is a Time Machine
Cut grass is a time machine. I am suddenly running across the back yard in my little white cotton dress embroidered with yellow daisies. The grass is freshly mowed and my toes can feel the delicious dampness of the cuttings. My feet are tinged green. I leap upon the cement patio and continue my pell-mell run to only leap off the other side next to the hydrangea bush with its large bluish flowers and lazy humming bees. I jump with my arms wide and ponytails swinging and land in quick fall and roll only to come instantly to my feet and continue my run. I don’t remember where to I am running. I only remember the joy and effortless movement of my young body. The exhilaration of that moment suspended in the air before the tuck and roll. All in an instant from cut grass.
Obsessed with Murder
I binged before it became trendy. I spent the past decade streaming while doing housework, exercising, and cooking. Anything to take my mind off my real life. This pandemic has forced all of us - me particularly with my immune system - indoors and relying on video to keep us all entertained. I binged Bridgerton, Tiger King, Love Boat, Hot in Cleveland, Star Trek - All Versions, and more. Yet I only returned to one series to binge on again. Midsommer Murders.
Practicing the Pause
January 2, 2121 was the first anniversary of my divorce. 32 years of marriage. I left my old life as a suburban housewife to live in a small apartment with minimal belongings and embracing healing. As a PTSD survivor, my non-epileptic seizures had subsided. I was finally sleeping and losing weight. All the joys of singlehood.
A Presidential Taxi Cab
January 7, 2008 New York City Toting my suitcase, I hurried along the sidewalk with my two teenage daughters in tow. The gunmetal sky felt close as my breath puffed in clouds. We huddled in our thick coats, mittens, scarves, and hats pulling suitcases and walking quickly for warmth. January in New York City. What was I thinking?
The Radiated Little Black Book
The wind blew brutally cold as I gingerly made it to the car. My neighbor and close friend Terry offered to drive me to my radiation appointment. Once a day, for six weeks, I had the privilege of dropping my pants in front of a room of people and displayed on security monitors. Oh, joy.