I’ve abandoned a retail Christmas. To my friends and family who eagerly awaited my thoughtfully considered, yet poorly wrapped gifts, I apologize. You’ll still receive presents, when the spirit moves me, not when I’m instructed to by the conductors of our national season of selling. Continue reading
I miss reading out loud in a silly voice.
The kids and I would snuggle together in tiny toddler beds after they picked out their book for the night. If I was trying to get them to sleep quicker, I’d skip a few pages and they’d call me out on it because they had their favorites memorized. So back I’d go – to Ferdinand in the bullring, Alexander’s horrible day, or Harold and his purple crayon.
Now I’d have to stay up way too late to tuck them in for the night.
But which was their bestest mostest favorite? I don’t know if I could say for sure but they all loved the series featuring Madeline, the spunky heroine created by Ludwig Bemelmans. My kids were fascinated with the character, perhaps because a building near our home looked like the convent school in Paris where she lived. My kids would shout, “There’s Madeline’s house!” as we drove by each and every time.
A seagull wandered into my parents’ backyard on Tuesday. It couldn’t fly away; it was stuck with a fishing lure and tangled in the line. Wildlife control advised that seagulls are docile and suggested we wrap it in a blanket, put it in a box and drive it to the animal hospital. I stated firmly that they could come and get it. They did.
Birds terrify me so I hate the term “empty nest”. Warm, loving and cuddly are not adjectives that spring to mind when I think of birds. They find worms, drop them down their babies’ gullets and then push them out of a tree.
But pigs I like. Rooting around in the mud. Snuggling together for warmth. Fighting together against the big bad wolf. That’s a family to me.
“A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.”-Virginia Woolf
This famous declaration by the British author applies to all creative pursuits, I think. Since I work full-time and pursue writing in my off-hours, the money’s not an issue.* Time is; I handle that by getting up at 5 a.m. I assume there’s a better solution but a wealthy patron has yet to step forward.
That leaves the room. I’ve sought a dedicated space of my own for years, simply because writing requires listening to your inner monologue. I find this impossible to do in my family room, when ESPN’s on, the dog’s barking, and someone needs advice on an essay topic.
So I finally decided to take advantage of the only perk I’ve found to my nearly empty nest – liberated floor space. I appropriated one of my kid’s bedrooms and transformed it into my lady’s lair.