Finding Home

Ten below and all is well…

Good morning from spicy cold Vermont. This morning Liv and I braved the wind and went to Breakfast Club at Deb’s Place (grilled, iced blueberry and raspberry muffins and strong cups of tea), the library (her three thick books to my two), and finished up our route at Second Chance, the used clothing store, where I finally got rid of the two bags of clothing I’d been hauling around in my car. Now, we have the entire day to be inside while winter does its worst. I’m hoping that Tim will hang some more of our art, especially in our bedroom, where the Audubon prints rest against the lower walls, making the birds look flightless.

This past week I emailed my publisher to see if my manuscript had been reviewed. It’s next in the queue, so I should find out within the next two weeks. I like this time of not knowing. Of not having to meet a deadline. Of not trying to fit writing in between trips to the washer and dryer. But if all goes as planned, soon you’ll be hearing me grumble about having to rewrite scenes, and being offended by the nasty (but true) comments of the editors.

We took our Christmas tree down last night. I’ll miss Bing and Dean and Buck and the King Family, and I won’t hear them singing again until early November. But there are other events to look forward to as we step into this new year. My mom’s birthday, for instance. That’s a day of rejoicing for sure.

I’ll finish up now. I’m going to do some house chores and cuddle up with the dog and A Paris Year, one of my library finds. Keep warm, everybody. I’m grateful for you.





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Finding Home

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Finding Home

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