I’d meant to have this post up Monday. Then there was Sunday’s snow, Real Life Romance Hero and I both adjusting to not being sick, all family members being home at the same time, and computer issues, and I cannot tell you for the life of me what my original topic was. Really no idea on that one. I have a note somewhere that says “longhand,” but that could be pretty much anything. So today, you get my rambles. Also some assorted pictures that I have no idea what they were originally taken to illustrate. Let me throw them up here and see if I remember.
Okay, here’s one. First cup of tea after cold sore scab dropped. Apparently freedom tastes like cinnamon and star anise. I grabbed that tea bag at random from what we call the orphan jar,. where various teabags go when the rest of their box has been dispatched, were picked up at other venues, received as gifts, etc. Though I haven’t actually played Tea Roultette (you drink what you pick) formally as of yet, it is always a possibility in our house.
I put these guys in the front window:
I trudged out in the whirling white on Sunday, in desperate need of human contact (apart from the human contact I live with; there’s a difference) and broke in a new padfolio. Ivory paper, not white, not yellow. Ivory. Lots of blabber, lots of tea, listened to RWA talks from last year’s Nationals; not bad for a snowy afternoon.
I like sitting at the small counter facing this window when I write longhand at the coffee house. There’s something about having my back to the world,. a view of art, raw brick and the world outside -best when it’s snow or rain, and there was plenty of snow on Sunday- that feels very comfy and creative.
There’s a table in the coffee house that has a built in chessboard and Risk board, both very cool, and usually, the chessmen are in place, but, today, they were on a field trip to another table. I think they look like they’re having a fine time.
Do I have any better idea now what I was going to blog about? Nope, but I’m still here. My brain may be mush for anything apart from fiction writing at present, but that’s not entirely a bad thing. Sometimes entertaining for family and friends, but the spaciness is actually a good thing. It means my head is in that story space I’ve wanted it to be in for longer than I would care to admit, and I can’t begrudge that.