It bucketed rain all the way out to Whonnock but when we got there, Helmi and Fred's place was cozy and inviting. We took off our shoes, curled up in interesting and gracious chairs and couches, stretched out on the floor and emptied out our pockets of stories, both personal and for the book. We talked about health and love and travel and money and work. We put our energy and indignation up in support of friends to whom fate is dealing a bad hand. We laughed. We ate a big crazy patchwork supper. We drank wine. We chose a title, set the order of stories, agreed on absolute deadlines, laughed about author bios, encouraged our most-beleagured friend to go with his heart as far as including his story this time or re-writing it and waiting for next time. We talked about why we liked the story written by the one least confident about including hers. We prowled restlessly around photographs and artwork for the cover, loving nothing intensely enough nor with consensus to say "That's the cover." We agreed, barring a last minute romance with a cover yet undiscovered, that this will the "the black book with red title." We named it My Mother and Other Lies. We drank coffee, ate brandy chocolates and fruit too beautiful for words and talked about the declining quality of hospital linens. Then we went home.
Today is another day, less group collaboration, more offspring transportation. I'll lunch with Mom and Dad and Andy, then go see The Syringa Tree at the Playhouse. I will surely cry in the the dark, but that's what I do. At some point I will put finishing touches on a Sunday School lesson, help with last minute Halloween preparations including artistic design of Pippi Longstocking hair using actual hair, a bent coathanger and red spray colour. Check in about Chapter 2 and 3 math tests, cuddle on the couch with husband and watch some dvd or other, write a couple of reference letters and some thank you cards, send a message to Eritrea and make applesauce.
Life has a complicated and beautiful shape, even on ordinary days. Nothing is perfect. Everything is interesting. Much is unexpected or at least different from orignally anticipted. I am blessed.
question: whatcha doing today? Whadja do yesterday?
mompoet - oomphy