Saturday, September 13, 2008


I love weekends. Especially days when I get to do whatever I want. I woke up early this morning--unusual for me on a Saturday--and talked to my parents for over an hour. Then we met the fam at Jake's for a little late breakfast. I attempted a cup of coffee and it made my hiatal hernia talk to me. It sure tasted good, though.

Mel, the Dab and I ventured to Main Street and visited a couple of gift shops. Husbands are great for carrying purchases, by the way. Dab didn't grumble once since they had nifty cooking gadgets and samples of dips and chutney. He got overly excited with a CIA (that's Culinary Institute of America) omelet pan and a carving knife. I gave him the "look" and whispered "October 6" and he remembered his birthday.

Melissa got bored with our interminable perusal of the foodstuffs, so she ventured to the candle shop. After we dipped into the savings to pay for the dip mixes, pickles, etc., we joined Mel in scent overload central. I love candles--don't get me wrong--but sometimes they can overwhelm the senses. After Mel dipped into her savings to pay for decadent knick-knacks, she bounded off with Shawn and Jim (and the dogs) to look at houses. That's when it happened. Alan looked across the street and saw Wonderland. A Belgian woman opened a Chocolatiere next door to our favorite steak place. We braved the walk across the street and breathed in the heavenly aroma of sweet, sinful confections. I wanted to bottle up the smell and take it across the street to the candle shop.

We picked out our favorite flavors and savored each dreamy bite. Chocolate makes me happy.

The Dab dropped me at home to "work on my writing" so he could explore the city. No interruptions, I prayed. No luck.

Phone call #1: the Dab--ten minutes. Reminders, honey-do's, etc...

Phone call #2: the sister-in-law--one hour. The weather, politics, etc...

Phone call #3: friend/ex-student--two hours. Life, school, stress, decisions, self-esteem, etc...

Hunger sets in. Breakfast and chocolate long gone, I opened the fridge (I'm from Texas--that's what we call it) and searched in vain for nourishment. Settled on a kolache. Not good for my hiatal hernia, either.

I sat down to enjoy my snack when phone call #4 hit: the Dab--dinner questions, home soon, etc...

Did I work on my writing? No. Other than this post and a reply to a political blog, I did nothing. Lame, I know. My intentions were good. I don't think people realize the amount of concentration writing requires. No interruptions means no interruptions. I'm not sure it's possible. How do prolific writers manage to find the time to crank 'em out? I would like to know their secret.

It's almost time for bed. Church in the morning and tomorrow afternoon. That will give me maybe a couple of hours of writing time. Barring no interruptions, of course.

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