Just like oatmeal burning in the pot.
Good morning from full-blown snowstormy Vermont. We won’t be driving anywhere today, not even to visit my mother. Today I was supposed to return to my regular work hours at the college, noon to 8 PM, but because of the weather, the library is closed. I wonder if our electricity and internet will hold?
No word from Curiosity Quills, but I’m slowly moving to a decision. I’ve reached out to CQ asking for referrals regarding respectable agents, and have found a trustworthy person to walk me through the self-publishing process (including how to stay on Amazon) if that’s the road I choose. I think I’ll give it another week to see what pans out. I haven’t forgotten my promise to give you the story. At this point, it’s all about timing and my own reserves of energy.
I’ve been reading up on new teaching methods as I prep for information literacy lessons in several on-campus classes. Because it has been a dream of mine to learn all the romance languages, I was comforted to know that even though it’s harder to learn a new language as an adult, it is still quite possible, and so is learning more than one language at a time. Hearing the sound of a new word in a new language comforts me. Every now and then I pull a word from the atmosphere and I decline or conjugate it in Latin, Spanish, French, and Italian. I study the patterns and roll the sequences around my tongue. This is my idea of a good time. When I was at UVM, I took a linguistics course because I was interested in becoming one. But the instructor, I remember her well, gave us a horrid, dry textbook, and killed any interest I had in pursuing this subject further. Well, almost killed. I’m still hooked. I just wish I had more time.
I leave you with a fact. The pitter patter of snow against our windows sounds just like oatmeal burning in the pot on the stove. I forgot again.
Check in next week for another segment of Finding Home.