One of my several books is finally coming together. I have been plugging away steadily and actually making a dent in getting it done. The result though, is that when I have time to sit and write, it doesn’t happen here. Many days, like this one, the choice is eat, write, cello, or French. Usually only eat wins. Tonight I bought plant starts for the garden, and since it was not raining I decided to plant those instead of all my other potential projects, so I managed only eat and plant. Oh, and pull weeds. First I had to pull weeds out of the planter boxes in order to plant the vegetables in them. The ground was soft and loamy, perfect for pulling weeds and also for planting. Oregon’s weather today was as schizophrenic as ever, unable to decide between warm sun and pounding rain. I’m a bit dismayed by the rains we are getting. They are more like east coast rains than typical Oregon rains, but things are changing in the weather world, so I should not be surprised.
In any case, it was pouring rain when I bought the baby plants, but by the time we got home, I made dinner and we ate it, the sun had decided to come out and stay out until dusk when I completed the planting. This was quite satisfactory. I love digging in the dirt and growing things. It makes me feel centered. Isabel came outside with me and helped. She scolded Ava whenever Ava barked at the wind, or the walking neighbor, or the squirrel, or the cat, or the way her fur fell across her face. Isabel also made her hoo sound and showed me plants, helped me to pick weeds, and showed me how her coat snaps. She liked pulling out the old leaves from the flower bulbs that have already bloomed for the year. She stacked them in the stack of discarded plant parts and old rooty things. Then she watched closely as I dug holes and placed baby lettuce or baby corn into them. Adorable.
I finished this gardening project at dusk and my hands were filthy, so I figured it was as good a time as any to take a bath. However, taking a bath and getting baby ready for bed took up the whole evening, leaving me basically no time for cello, French, or writing. Now I should be sleeping but I’m typing this. Why? I have no idea. I just pulled out the computer and started to go. I can’t say what insane motivation drove me to it. I am going to overcome this motivation now and go to sleep because the only time I’m going to get writing done during the week is in the early morning, which means getting up early, and if I am going to get any sleep at all (which is necessary in my brain for coherent writing), I have to stop this now and turn out the light.