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| To me, roses mean someone wants you to be happy These, from a neighbor, make me happy, and note they are not bending their heads like to so many do today |
Ever since I was hospitalized in January, I’ve had trouble swinging myself up into Jordan’s SUV—one of the older, high-up kind. I can’t figure out if it’s a lack of muscle or a lack of nerve, but we’ve solved it with a little white plastic stool I had. I step on that and land in the seat perfectly.
But what we almost walked into was this incredible bright red pick-up that was on such big wheels, so high off the ground, that I don’t even know how to describe it. My instinctive questions was, “What would we do if I had to get into that?” Jordan’s answer was to take a picture. When we got settled in her car, I wanted to hang around and see how the owner got into it, but she had too much to do, and we came home. I’m still in the phase where I’m always glad to be back home.
The day bumped along, nothing unusual. I had odds and ends on my desk that kept me busy. I decided for lunch to have some of that tuna in olive oil with oregano that Jordan served at happy hour last night. Mixed it with cottage cheese—so good—and made myself a salad with the bit of Caesar dressing left from last night. Jacob had complained that the dressing was so “stout” (my word, not his) that it burned the roof of his mouth. Last night I thought it was okay, but today I agreed with him. Sometimes I think those flavors intensify overnight. That scuttled my plan to write about Caesar salad in my cooking blog tomorrow. Will have to think about what we’ve cooked recently that was more successful.
Jordan and Christian are at a big open house at her office this evening, so Jacob and I are on our own for supper. We planned to order sub sandwiches from Great Outdoors—my absolute favorite. He came out to the cottage about six, and I pulled up the website only to see that delivery was not available. So, of course, hamburgers were the next choice. I rejected his half-hearted suggestion that he drive his mother's car, with me in the passenger seat, and hope that we didn't get stopped, since I am not a licensed drive, and he is not a licensed learner yet--one more week. I like the Tavern and thought I could order their club sandwich, but Jacob said they appeared to be closed. So we had Hopdaddys burgers—good but not great and not at all what I had my taste buds set for. I ate a lot of chocolate to compensate.
Recently I read a reference to the good old days, “when life was slow and deliberate.” I really liked that phrase, and at first relished the thought that it describes my life. Slow, because I set my own deadlines; deliberate, because I do what I want to do. But then I realized slow and deliberate is also part of my current discontent. I have no major project on my desk. Oh yes, I’ve kept busy with blogs and critiques and other small thing, including ignoring the novel-in-progress that has me baffled. But I have no big thing on my desk.
No, don’t tell me what you think I should write. Do you have any idea how often someone says to a writer, “Let me tell you the book you should write,” and how much writers dislike hearing that? Whatever your idea is, it’s your book to write, not mine. Mine has to be something I am passionate about—and those subjects just don’t come along easily or often. I guess I’m waiting for some response, some encouragement about the Helen Corbitt manuscript. Or for some new inspiration to grab me.
Meantime, life is slow and deliberate. But I guess that’s okay for a while.
Stay safe, stay cool, turn off lights and a/c when you can. At this point, railing in anger at the Texas electric situation is non-productive. What we need to do is tough this one out, conserve as much energy as we can to avoid blackouts and vote the greedy men who are profiting from our discomfort out of office. Once and for all.