Mo Dowd Makes Me Cry

Mo Dowd did it again.

I'm sitting at my desk weeping.
And praying my boss doesn't walk into my office!

I don't always agree with her, but when I do, it's spot on. And this week, we're spot on.

Oh this week. This emotion filled, exciting week.

We've been joking that now we won't have to say we're Canadian when we travel abroad.

It's so much more than that, though.

The presumptive president-elect (it's not officical til the electoral college says it's so) may stumble. He may not be able to do what we hope.

But, today, we have hope.

And that's a lot.

A Pinch or a Dash

I was asked to participate in an email recipe swap. I immediately began running through my mental recipe index. My tomato sauce? Cauliflower gratin? Sauted green beans? White bean soup? Oh the possibilities seemed endless!

Except for one thing:I don't actually have recipes. I have...ideas. I use enough butter, some basil, slightly too much mozzarella. You get the idea. I can cook, I just can't tell you how to do it.

Which make participatin in a recipe swap difficult.

Oy vey!

We Did It!

I spent last night in Rockefeller Center.
I am too tired today to write anything substantial.

But we did it! And it feels great!

Today

Expectant waiting.
That's what I'm feeling today.

I voted before work after standing in a line that stretched out the door and around the block.
People were laughing and smiling.

I wanted to say, "don't laugh! don't smile! don't tempt fate!"

'Cause it ain't over til it's over.

The Morning After

I'd forgotten, or perhaps blocked out, the abject fear that comes from submitting something you've created.

This blog doesn't count. It's nicely anonymous-- I have no idea if anyone reads it aside from a few friends. Friends, it must be said, who have already told me I write well. This is for fun, shits and giggles as it were. There's no one judging this and nothing happens if I don't write for months on end.

Last night, after I'd emailed the essays off to the editor, I fell into a deep panic.

Was it crap?
It was, wasn't it?
Total crap!
Pilfered crap at that-- not even original crap!
I combined 3 previous essays to make that one!
Oh, God!

etc. etc.

And then this morning, a note back from the editor using words like "a marvel" and "thank you so much" and "good job."

And I think, so what if it wasn't prize winning material. I completed the task. Did the job.
It's not, I suppose, about hitting it out of the park each time. Sometimes it's enough just to get on base.

Or, failing that, at least not striking out!

On Deadlines

In college I had a professor who said he assigned term papers to give his students a chance to do their laundry.

That's the thing about deadlines, when you have one you'll do whatever you can to avoid it.

Sadly, my laundry is done. My kitchen is clean and my baseboards shining. There's nothing to do but write the flippin' things.

That's why I'm blogging.

500 words. It's not so many, not so long. This isn't a thesis or even a term paper. I'm 10% done-- I have 50 words written and yet I'm paralyzed.

I haven't had a writing deadline since the spring of 2002. I'm out of practice. I can't churn things out any more. Still, a journey of 1000 miles start with one step, an essay of 500 words with a sentence.

I have to keep my eye on the prize-- the way it will feel when it's all done!

Update: It's 7pm, well, 5 past. I have 138 words. 362 left to go. Say a prayer, gang. Say a prayer.

Update, 2: 4 minutes before 8 and I have 250 words. I'll get to 400 easy, 500 may be a stretch. If I can get it out by 10, I'll be happy. Dear Lord, how do people do this for a living? I'd go barmy.

Update, 2.5: 8:28, 300 words. Yee haw!

Walking Girl

Well the frost is on the pumpkin and hay is in the barn.

Or, rather, the homeless guy is burning trash and the radiators on.

I guess James Taylor lyrics don’t really transfer from the Berkshires to Manhattan. Le sigh.