Yesterday was a day of uncommon January. 65 degrees at noon. Clear and only a few white sheepy clouds that moved about lazily. No forceful winds of winter. No pushing of chilly agenda.

My family (who are individually gorgeous, as well as collectively splendid) went to a large park in a neighboring town that is overlooked by the most precious and fine library I’ve ever had the honor of visiting. The collection is punctuated with grand new adventures and old, grey, familiar classics. There’s a tucked away espresso bar that sells Orangina (much to my son’s enjoyment). I used to tumble into it when I was pregnant with my son, and would walk purposefully through the greenbelt park below. Sunshine + books + espresso = a pretty wonderful time.

I might be going back to work very soon. Since Xander was born I have worked only off and on, a year or two and then off. Part time down from full time. This leg I’ve been firmly attached to the role for a little over a year. It’s time to go forth and march into the future but of course I am dogging about and kicking up dust in the red clay. Don’t wanna.

Scratch that. I do wanna. I’m not looking forward to the disappearance of convenience and ease that we have as a family when I am home. My own projects will be fine, as I’ve always been a bit of a night owl writer and wrote volumes of work when I was working full time. I carry along a notebook with me to work, and scribble away and input into nicer font later. I am not worried about that. What I am worried about is the lack of ease. We have no family in town. If my husband is out of town and Xander is sick it’s me that must go get him. There is no grandmother or aunt in town to collect him. Which is fine. I’d rather be the one to collect him anyway, but some employers are not so keen on attentive mothers. Crossing fingers.

I came upon a quote while we were sitting in the children’s library yesterday, by J.M. Barrie. I am bludgeoning the quote to pieces I’m sure, but it went something like, “…for poets are never fully grown up, anyway.” I vowed right then (again and again) to remember my fairy roots and willow branches. I won’t ever, ever grow up so go ahead and build a little house around me. I hope to never, ever grow up all the way. That way I can be always here, but neither here nor there, if that makes sense (no, it doesn’t).

Speaking of J.M. Barrie, read this lovely one:

“Stars are beautiful, but they may not take an active part in anything, they must just look on for ever. It is a punishment put on them for something they did so long ago that no star now knows what it was. So the older ones have become glassy-eyed and seldom speak (winking is the star language), but the little ones still wonder.” – J.M. Barrie.

I found this one while trying to find the poet quote. It’s actually really really apropos to the YA project I’ve gently and quietly begun. It puts it all in a sweet and silver little box and I hope you all like it when it’s done. I like writing for an audience (however small) in these projects. Men in Caves just needs expanded a bit and clarified but it’s about 2/3 finished. I am proud of that and I like that I’ve been public about the whole process. Art is nothing if it’s not shared. Tucked away art only screams to be let out of its cupboard before it fades away.

That’s all I’ve got this morning.


"... all my lovers were there with me, all my past and futures."

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