But this year is different, because I'm also winding down my job after more than 16 years. It's adding a whole dimension of complications to my life. Making the days interesting, as the Chinese curse says.
But soon, things pick up from the writing end. What generally happens each year is that from November until February I write like a person possessed. (I wrote a novella during that stretch last year, plus several chapters of a novel-in-progress.) It's just something to note, in case you think I'm letting the blog die on the vine. I always drift away this time of year. But I always drift back.
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This is a very strange year for me, unlike any other.
But then are any two years... two days.. two minutes ...two milliseconds ...are any two the same? You can stare at a blade of grass for two minutes and swear nothing changed from one sixty-second span to the next, but something did. Small bits of that blade of grass died. Other small bits of it grew. Micro-currents of air moved the blade subtly, too small a motion for our eyes to notice. All this randomness ruling our Universe. It's unnerving. Unsettling. Unavoidable. We roll with it. What else is there to do?
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Happy Birthday to my sister, Mitty... a wonderful southern name for a wonderful person.
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Two mornings ago, I was getting ready for work when my grandson walked into the bedroom. I had my wife take him back out so I could finish dressing. He was walking toward me with his arms open wide, and I was rushing around to get to a job that has no use for me any longer. What was I thinking?
For two days now, it haunts me. He wanted to run to me like he always does, so I can pick him up, carry him to the living room and join him in playing with his toy barn. Taking the Chick, the Moo-Cow, the Lamb and the Piglet out of their spots so he can open the barn door and pull out the first four plastic letters of the alphabet. Putting the A,B,C and D through their matching holes in the roof. Letting them fall inside, then closing the barn door and putting all the animals back in their appointed spots. Lost moment. You don't get those back, no sir.
Off to bed...
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