potpourri
How many of my entries, I wonder, are the result of sleepless nights?
Far too many, it seems.
Well, sleepless night or not, I’ve been meaning to update for a couple of weeks, a way of marking time, I suppose, even when there’s nothing big to say.
Today has been productive. My elusive, temperamental creative drive resurfaced a couple of weeks ago, and I’m trying to make the most of it before it disappears once again. And while I slowly, methodically plod away at the art, brainstorming and daydreaming even when I’m not physically working on a project, it’s a different kind of creativity currently occupying my time.
Mondays and Tuesdays are my days off of work. I’ve been part-time since starting this job, ten years ago, and since the pandemic I’ve only worked in the office three days a week. This is part luxury, part necessity. I don’t think I could feasibly hold a full-time job, not with my health being what it is and, before that, everything that transpired with the kids.
These two days off are my favorite days of the week, and everything else feels like treading water, just working to survive. These two days are more enjoyable than the weekends, and certainly preferable to my days in the office. They are my quiet, my recharge time, mornings and afternoons free to use as I please. What has been pleasing me lately is writing, and lots of it, more than I’ve done in at least the past ten years. To what end? Who knows. I don’t think that matters - only the act of making, and the pleasure it brings me.
*****
This weekend our little city is expecting an influx of visitors because of the solar eclipse on the 8th. We are in ‘the path of totality’, something I apparently cannot say without using my hands, the gesture a wide sweeping arc meant to mimic the actual eclipse path. My family finds this gesture amusing and has decided it looks like I’m casting a spell. I suppose the phrase ‘the path of totality’ is somewhat ominous.
At dinner a couple of weeks ago I relayed all of this to my brother and his family - how our city, here on the outskirts of DFW, with a population of only 30,000, is expecting anywhere from 25,000 to 50,000 visitors. How the local police have issued a call to residents to make sure we are stocked up on groceries and gas because our infrastructure and local businesses aren’t equipped to handle the crowds. How there will be an ‘eclipse music festival’ at the sports park, just two blocks down the street from where I live, featuring several popular musical acts - or, rather, musical acts that were popular thirty years ago. (Would you like to come see All-4-One or the Gin Blossoms at some soccer fields sandwiched between a Lowe’s and a Texas Roadhouse? Don’t. I can promise, it will be underwhelming.) And, while relaying all of this, I once again mentioned ‘the path of totality’, using my sweeping arm gesture, prompting Cory to tease me. My nieces and nephew all thought it was hysterical, so at least I’m good for that.
*****
Things are good on other fronts.
The guys played a private event this weekend, the 50th birthday of a friend’s wife out in Glen Rose. It was a three-day event, but Cory only went on Saturday. He came home, describing it as a who’s who of local bands they’ve befriended over the years. In the past, he would have loved this sort of thing, but it doesn’t seem like his heart is in it anymore. Or perhaps he doesn’t trust it to last, not after everything that transpired over the summer. Assuming past patterns are to be repeated, M will be on his best behavior for a while, and then slowly slip back into his old habits. At any rate, they’re all drinking less. Zero complaints there, as drinking was at the root of my recent frustrations with Cory.
*****
Everything else is moving forward uneventfully. We’re technically only a couple of weeks into spring, but after an unusually warm February and March, it feels like it’s well on its way. Claire has been harvesting the edible wildflowers in our yard, using them to make simple syrup. I’ve not ventured into the backyard, but I know it’s full of wild onions. She usually loves to pick those too. I’ll have to remind her.
Each spring, two barn swallows take up residence on our front porch where they’ve built a nest. They’re gorgeous little things - dark blue and cream, with rust-colored throats. I have no interest in bird watching, but these two feel like our birds, returning to us year after year.
I just looked up what a group of barn swallows is called. The answers vary - a flight, a gulp, a kettle, a richness - but I most like a swoop, because this is what they do when we walk out onto the porch - swoop past us, and out into the yard.
1:57 a.m. - 2024-04-02