life according to me
February is nearly half gone and I’m just now feeling as if there’s a new year ahead of me and things to plan for. The holidays have long passed, the remnants of that nasty bout with bronchitis are finally gone, the Super Bowl — which always seems to allow some sort of hanging on to a reason to plan a party — is history, and finally, a lovely several days spent with an old friend who came to stay have also been crossed off my calendar. Time flies.
Twenty-twelve was a blue ribbon year for me and for many of the people I care about. Milestone birthdays and graduations abounded. There were planned trips to familiar places, and an unexpected vacation to somewhere new. Day trips were enjoyed out and about the city we’ve called home since 1968 and tend to take for granted. A mix and match of family got together for myriad reasons. There were babies, continued good news about a friend’s fight with cancer, new homes warmed for the next phase in lives, and deaths mourned.
NaNoWriMo is officially over and what have I done with my crappy draft of a half-done manuscript since November 30th?
Well.
I was going to write about all of the heavy thoughts I’ve been mulling over since the election this past Tuesday and about how at a time like this I would normally feel like jumping up and down, waving flags and celebrating with sheer joy at the outcome, but I have not done that. Outside of shedding a few tears of complete relief, I have worried more about those whose votes did not gain them what I have heard described as “their” president in office come next January and not “mine.”
Day 3 of NaNoWriMo is waning but my energy to keep writing hasn’t and that feeling has been present each day so far — sort of. And I’m ahead of myself, so allow me an explanation: I think this will be an important place to think about what I’m learning about myself and writing throughout this process and not so much a place to catch anyone up on exactly what I’m writing.
…until NaNoWriMo begins and although I feel my planning is not only coming along nicely, it’s fun. That’s always a good sign, isn’t it?
I have a loose schedule figured out for myself:
Rise early (okay, so earlier than waiting until the MoH backs out of the driveway) at 7:00
Coffee and yogurt while rereading previous day’s work.
In the last few days that I’ve been adjusting to participating in NaNoWriMo, I’ve been planning. Thinking and planning. Thinking, and reading, listening, remembering, and planning. What I’ve not been doing is planning a plot for my novel. Wait.
My. Novel.
The commuter traffic outside my office window has slowed somewhat, but it’s Friday, so the expected busy, busy of anyone riding the weekend’s momentum has made for a much more noisy morning than I like. Gardeners have started their mowers, weed whackers, blowers. I can hear garbage trucks in the distance.
I keep a pretty close eye on myself.
At this point in my life, there is little reason for one day to be much different from the next unless I want it to be, and I like it like that. I like that each day has promise and possibility and that I can wallow in all of it. I look forward to every day, anticipating what each will bring with a sort of giddiness. Yes, I’m fortunate, and I’m grateful for the life I enjoy knowing others do not have the same simple joy.
It’s about that time. The heat of August has come like it always does and with it damp mornings that will always remind me of getting ready for a new school year to begin. As soon as the MoH is off to work, I putz around the pots and planters on my patio, snipping away the spent blossoms and sweeping the leaves that have dropped over the past day. The orb weavers have been out for a week now and trying to jockey for best web position for the season, their little orange bodies not quite adjusted to those of us who forget it’s their time in the garden now, and we crash into their hard work a couple of times before they teach us to remember, and look.