I think the time is flying by in weeks. Here it is Saturday again. So the day starts with laundry and vacuuming. Latte and English muffin. Water the gardens (which are minimal). Accepting an invitation to meet neighbors later this weekend. Once all of that is done, then pick up with my audio book from the library and draw something.
The basket makers of Tasmania were gathering again so I had to add more to my Gathering Book.
The other day on the way back from the gym.
Night before last my television decided to quit. a year and a half was all it had in it. I spent over an hour on the phone with a heavily-accented technical help person who slowly, very slowly took me through all the steps to get it up and running again. To no avail. I ordered a new one. It will come on Monday. Perhaps when my cleaning lady is here. Hopefully after I return from my early morning every five-week hair appointment. Then it is just unplug one and plug another in. Simple, right?
Tomorrow morning I will mix up some insect control compound to spray around the house. My cleaning lady says I will only have to do it twice a year. It is time, as the crickets like to come in from the chilly night. Mostly they stay hidden until the cats coax them out. They won’t eat them, which I am happy for. But a lonely male, whining, cricket hidden under a bookcase is not something I want to hear all night.
I went to poetry this week and read Old. The critique comments on the copies returned were positive. But I think that is mostly due to the easy association they had with the idea of arriving in that place themselves. I need to get back to writing more. Since I have decided to not make art work that will only pile up, I need something for my creative mind that will not slow down. This next week I should promise myself to finish a short story and get The Fairy Book available to the public. I do have it all laid out and only need to go over it again. Re-read the introduction and send it in.
I have yet to understand my fellow writers’ need to be recognized and published in esteemed collections. What does it matter? It is the writing that seems so much more important than having some distant and unknown “authority” claim you have been accepted and now recognized. I see that it might matter greatly if you are adding it to a resume that will get you further in a career. But otherwise, just write and then write some more. And do it because the words can’t stay bottled up inside. They need to be lined up on a page, one following the other, until it is said, and then you can get on with the discovery of what comes next.
Here is a bit of philosophical observation from this morning.
There is still way too many “things” still taking up space in my house. Mostly here in the studio….materials, books, tools. How much of this will I even use once I realized that it won’t be needed. Without students that I would meet on a regular basis, there is little opportunity to get the things into hands that can use it to help their visions be realized. It is hard to keep our work spaces from looking like an old man’s shed full of the “just in case I need it” accumulation.
But, it will find its way out of here one way or another.
I think I am going to pour an early glass of wine and listen to a man read me a story.
Til later….