Oh. Did you notice? School is back in. At least around here. And today, although not exactly being on schedule, I had all my kids in school. All the time. All four.
So besides the quick-and-early trip over the mountain to pick up Husband’s car (which has a very nice new water pump to match its very nice new brakes), I had a writing day.
Here’s what happens, apparently, when I have a writing day: I write. I revise. I write a little more. I make bread dough with which I will make pretty baguettes at some future time. I drink many glasses of water. With lime. I finish re-reading THE THIEF by Megan Whalen Turner. (I love this, Have I told you? Try it.) I do laundry. I eat sauteed yellow squash with kosher salt for lunch. I stretch out on the couch, because frankly it is too cold to stretch out outside.
Shall I explain that? It is too cold. In August. Outside. This morning, driving over the aforementioned mountain, I saw s^*%. Get your mind out of the gutter. Yes, you. I wasn’t being vulgar. Just shocked and unprepared. That secret code means the cold white stuff that comes down at higher altitudes when it is raining and 38 degrees on the ground. (It warmed up. To 64. But not right away.)
So what I’m saying is that I am trying to get back into my writing mojo (and that part is going to take some practice to get into the groove) and I am mourning summer (that part will come back, maybe for many weeks) and I am in a new piece of my life, a piece that almost BEGS me to be selfish and do MY THING. So I get to remember what MY THING is, and figure out how to make the most of it.
Apparently by making bread.
Oh, yeah – and writing.