There were plans for this weekend, plans that involved taking full advantage of a break from dead-on vortexy weather and hauling out to one of our favorite spreads of public greenery to toss a quilt on the most likely freeze-dried verdure and indulge in the sort of anachronistic pastimes our little nuclear unit likes to indulge in. Drawing. Writing. Flying model airplanes. That sort of thing.
For one thing, the offspring, Resident Young Adult, had homework to finish despite having slaved mightily at it for much of Saturday. Said work involved having Internet access.
For another thing, there was The Chandelier. First of all, let me say that I like The Chandelier. I always wanted something like it for the dining room and that if I had purchased it myself it could have stayed safe in the box and writing would have happened regardless of whether we had picnicked or not. But I didn’t buy it, my father did. Right now he’s downsizing, from the house he has been renting, to a senior-friendly apartment. The Chandelier, which made the last move with him, isn’t going to fit.
It’s a Bohemian confection of spun glass and dripping crystal which has no business sitting for any length of time on the sideboard of a house possessed of three humans and three cats, not one of whom can lay claim to an iota of athletic grace. Ergo, job number one this weekend was hanging it, ASAP.
But the dining room still has its original – albeit flood-damaged, that’s another story – wallpaper. Hanging, de-hanging and then re-hanging was out of the question. So nearly all waking hours these past forty-eight have been spent on, ascending, or descending ladders with scrapers, spritz-bottles, scrub pads, or else wiring stuff and fiddly-bits of glass in hand in the sort of frenzy that leads to two Aleve at bedtime.
No writing happened. I’ve long suspected that one of the reasons that there are so many women writing today is that the working hours can be adapted around the needs of others.
Luckily, the writing community is still out there, regardless of one’s own electro-decor kerfuffles. Nathan Bransford with yet another spirit-lifting post, this one about not-having-to-write-every-day. Thank you again Nathan. And Elizabeth Briggs posted about the YA Buccaneers Spring Writng Bootcamp. About which I knew nothing.
Thank you Liz. I’m off to go find out.