Monday, January 22, 2018


Suddenly, I feel a sense of urgency: I want to finish my Great Writing Project.

Over the weekend, I listened to stories about two extraordinarily famous British authors -- Agatha Christie and John le Carré. I have nothing much in common with either, least of all the talent that each possesses. But I do think that in being lackadaisical in my book writing, I've let go of something I once valued (and that these two certainly valued as well): the idea that a book deserves to be finished.

It is a perfect day to get excited about writing because you surely can't get excited about what's going on outside: rain. Cold, menacing rain.

(View from the sun room, where I choose not to eat breakfast.)

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(Instead, we eat here. Where the orchids bloom and the daffodils are still showing signs of a happy if brief existence.)

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Outside, the cheepers look like they're doing a dance around the one last clump of snow -- our slowly disappearing snowman.

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So this morning and I hope most mornings of the remaining winter months, I write.

Even though the rain pauses when I pick up Snowdrop, it's not a good day for outdoor play. Say I. She has different ideas.
You see? I have my raincoat and my boots! 
Well, great then! Maybe we can find a puddle outside... I try not to think about how it's only in the upper 30sF (3 or 4C) out there.

Here she is, leaving school, with one of her favorite teachers. I ask -- does Snowdrop continue to invite friends to do works with her? (A Montessori school principle: you are responsible for your own work, unless you can invite a friend to share in it.) Oh yes, and she is very good at inviting her friends after she's done -- to help her clean up!  What can I say -- smart kid.

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I hadn't intended to stay outdoors more than a minute, but when Snowdrop is revved up about an activity, it's best to let go of your reservations and join in on her spirited play.

A walk around the block in search of monster puddles is exhilarating (they are not monsters, grandma! But they're huge! No, they're not -- says the puddle expert extraordinaire)! 

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Monster puddles, I tell you.

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Walk done. I'm cold. She's in denial about the weather. Ah, but I have super cards up my sleeve: a fresh croissant in the car and a new Olivia book at the farmhouse.

A delicious snack, and an even more delicious set of minutes reading about the spunky pig's (Olivia's) search for a favorite toy, and now Snowdrop is ready to plunge into more active play. She goes straight for the drum. The music show is on her mind.

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(She has the enthusiasm of a whole band.)

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And shortly after, she returns to her stories. And her props for them. Babies, Playmobil characters, anything within reach.

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(This particular tale has a running theme in it...)

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When she leaves, the house grows very quiet. Ed has been lost to clearing out debris from the sheep shed -- a project that I'm sure will take the better part of winter. He and I eat a dinner of leftovers and then we return to our own works. I try not to count the days (well, more like months) until spring.  We're still owed a good sized snowstorm, no? Yes, a snowman that's bigger than the melted clump outside would be nice. I turn up the heat just a degree, close my eyes and think lovely thoughts of wintry landscapes. We're sure to have snow yet. I think. Maybe.