Since May 1, I’ve been completely submerged in my kids. Swim team, orchestra camp, hanging out at home, camping in the Rockies. I could say they’ve swallowed me whole, but that wouldn’t be fair. I’ve enjoyed it too much to whine.
School started on Monday, and now, I need to let go. How? I’ve never been good at switching gears. I have this attention span that locks onto whatever-it-is like a tractor beam. So, I have issues. I know it’s best for them to navigate the day without me. I don’t want to be that mom. I know her. She isn’t pretty, and the other moms hate her guts. Her kids run away to college and never come home. Or. They never leave, and we have failure to launch.
So for everyone’s sake, I’m wading back into blogging, trying to slip on my floaties before the bottom gives way, and I’m sinking into the deep end of the pool. Be kind. No splashing, please.
The light on the battery that runs Bacon’s weed eater still flashes red after charging all night. I’m always afraid to mess with this kind of stuff. If I unplug it, will I have to start over? Doesn’t a red light since 7:00 p.m. yesterday mean something’s wrong?
I slide the battery out of the charger. The light goes out. I push it back in. Hard. The light flashes green—the color it should’ve been twelve hours ago. The clock starts over. The red light means, “Dummy, I’m not connected. Give me some juice.”
I sit down at my desk. My fountain pen is empty. Absentmindedly, I unscrew the converter and dip it in the ink well. Then I remember. I’m supposed to stick the whole nib into the bottle and draw the ink up through it. No harm done. I empty the converter, reseat it in the pen, and draw the ink ritualistically. The pen works so much better that I wonder. Was it ever seated properly?
I’m a writer. Navel gazing gives me a chronic sore neck. Witticisms about my condition abound. Is it grief? Laziness? Menopause?
Have I ever been seated properly?
Last month, we trekked to Austin where we made a side trip to a favorite independent bookstore. If you’ve never been to BookPeople, it’s worth your time. The store makes you want to pull a book off the shelf, sit criss-cross applesauce on the floor, and spend the day.
If you aren’t close to Austin, then check out BookPeople’s blog, here on WordPress. The store employees make the best recommendations.
It’s a great feeling to walk around a corner and find your own kid, engrossed in good book. BookPeople was recipient of a James Patterson Grant.
I couldn’t resist a little daydreaming. Wouldn’t Crisp fit well between Crichton and Cronin?