Writing

The other day I spent hours trying to find my old blog.  I tried everything I could think of, including Googling myself (which brought up some interesting results, by the way, none of which were relevant) and trying to hack into my own site.  I ended up just cursing my stupid brain and deciding there was nothing to be done.  The blog was lost.  

Then a few moments ago I logged onto this blog and noticed again the other blogs I have access to, including some of my kids' and, for some reason I don't totally understand, one of my friend's, and HEY!  There was my old blog!  Right There!  Right in front of me.  Waiting to be accessed.  And I just have to wonder... What really is wrong with my brain?  How could I have Not Thought of That?  Humph.  You'd think I was getting older or something.

Tonight Mike came home early.  Meaning before 11 pm.  My kids looked up and-- after taking a moment to remember who he was-- said, "Dad!  What are you doing home?"  Like he doesn't live here.  Mike asked if he could fix dinner (bless the man!) and suggested I take some time off from single parenting and go write.  Then it was my turn to take a moment to register.  Write?  You mean, like a book?  I did used to do that, didn't I?  And then I felt that moment of panic.

Now if you happen to be a writer yourself, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about.  You've had a few weeks when, for whatever reason, you have not been able to write.  (Like maybe your spouse has been living at the office and you've been running life single-handedly.  Just for instance.)  And then the thing you have been aching for-- time to write, to get back to that character that has been following you around while you fold laundry-- presents itself, and you freeze.  Can I still write?  What if I can't?  What if the characters won't talk to me after I have ignored them for so long?  What if they have gone back to wherever they came from, along with my muse, and I just stare at a blank screen? ...Maybe I should just fold some more laundry.  

But Mike was home, and that was a miracle in itself.  Perchance other miracles could happen, too.  Perhaps I could still write.

So I took my laptop and went to Borders where-- miracles Do occur!-- I found a seat in one of those comfy chairs in a warm spot and opened the manuscript I had been working on weeks ago.  It was still there, and I must admit, I still liked the characters.  I edited a bit and moved into the real writing when

Ding ding ding, Ring ring ring!

my cell phone rang.  And there was Mike, my sweet husband who was home with the kids, letting me know he could not pick up the Panera bread donations because we had left his car at the commuter lot that evening.

Ugh.

I saved my work, shut down the computer, and rushed to Panera to pick up the donations for Lakeridge this week.  They let me in, even though I was there a few minutes late, which was very kind of them.  And they gave me bags and bags of bread for hungry people to eat, which is very, very kind of them.  But I swear I could see little Annabelle, destined to overthrow the kingdom when she grows up, wearing her soft slippers and new green dress and scowling at me.  She's been waiting weeks to grow up, to get out of the garden where she spoke of her true identity to her uncle, the king's spy and-- although they don't know it yet-- were overheard by someone who stood in the shadows of the garden door.  But she will have to wait, although she's not patient by nature, because my children are ready to read scriptures before they go to bed and Mike is home and I should really spend some time with him, too. 

Rebecca

who finished reading Aurelia by Anne Osterlund recently-- was it yesterday?-- and enjoyed it quite a bit.  =)