My life is taking a detour this week because I have been given an opportunity, a writing opportunity. For now I'm not going to be broadcasting the details (don't want to jinx it, you know) but suffice to say that I'm excited and nervous in turns and in about equal measure. I'm sorry to be missing the writing group meeting tonight, but I'll be there next week and I look forward to hearing what you all thought of my story that I submitted a couple weeks ago. Anyone who knows me knows that something really big has to happen for me to miss writer's. So, this is big. At least to me. More later.
May 26--Comoros. The launch from the ship putted into the bay and up alongside the stone pier jutting out from shore. This was always Clare's favorite stop on the cruise ships swing through this part of the world. Most of the ports tarted themselves up for the tourists, made themselves look more American, or at least made themselves conform to how they thought Americans looked or acted or shopped. She was tired of the smell of diesel and bad food, worse sanitation and hot asphalt that smacked her when she stepped ashore to lead a group on tour. She was tired of having to dodge pickpockets and time-share touts to shepherd her charges along. Comoros was different. Here the air was fresh, scented with flowers and salt, and it lifted her spirits. Here she could tell them about plants and animals that lived as they were meant, not as exhibits in a run-down, South Seas bazaar.
Not very inspired today. I'll do better soon. Really.