Friday, January 18, 2013

A Snowy Day

Not mean wet, heavy, blowing snow just the tiny flake, falling with purpose kind.  It's supposed to snow most of the day but only bring a couple inches.  That's okay, it'll cover up all the bare patches from last week's thaw.  Maybe KW and I will get to snowshoe after all.

I had a customer yesterday!  A paying one!  That was good and I didn't even fall asleep afterward.  I did "borrow" some paper and toner and reprinted my latest manuscript rewrite.  Seems I had gone all the way through it at The Clearing in September and never printed that out so my next rewrite starts one step forward than I thought.  That's kind of energizing, even though I am facing re-keying 147 double-spaced pages, slotting in expansion scenes when I come to them.  (I have notes, sheets of notes, and a page with "bubbles" of scenes radiating from the center.  That's a lot of rewriting ammo.)

Today I relearned (for the bajillionth time) that I can't eat candy and expect to see the Wii Body Test number go down.  Huh.  *head, palm*  Now do you see why I say I need a keeper?  I do not understand how I can want to reduce so badly and then derail my own self so blithely.  Gah.  And yet I kind of resent Durwood (at least my 7 yr. old self does) for "making" me eat Weight Watcher-y food.  This food plan is MY idea, has been from the start.  I'M the one who handed him the WW cookbooks and said, "cook like this."  I sneak around eating things when he can't see me as if it doesn't count when he can't see.  How stupid is that?  I can answer that, it's VERY stupid.  I despair.

January 18--Oscar Schmidt, Mandolin Harp.  Uncle Leo sat in the darkest corner of the dark room that was the center of Burke and Barbara's house.  His fingers were never still.  On Friday and Saturday nights his busy fingers played the mandolin harp that Grandpa Paul bought off the riverboat Ohio Maid in 1871.  Grandpa Paul played the concertina and he got the harp for Leo so that they could play together in the band at the men's club down on Fulton Street.  After Grandpa Paul died that winter Thursday, Uncle Leo wouldn't leave the house.  He played his harp in the corner on Friday and Saturday nights in the corner and the rest of the time he sat there in the dark with his fingers tapping on his knees.

Okay, that's a mishmash of aged relatives from both sides of my family and very little reality.  Must be why they call it fiction.  Gotta go eat some cereal then get my blood test.  Stay warm.

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