Though I’ve committed to touching base here once a month, this time around, I’m quickly running out of month. I’m now skidding into May’s home plate with a to-do list that would choke a horse and a teaming inbox.
I’ll blame the warming weather that entices me outside, away from the keyboard, niggling emails, and a mess of chores. But how could I turn down a lunch with girlfriends? (That’s me on the left with Jennifer Manuel in the middle and Elinor Florence on the right.)
Or a walk in the sunshine? Those are the pigs that grunt their hellos when I pass by Orkney Farm. And the weekend farmers’ market—part social, part shopping—draws me in like a bee to nectar.
May is also a big birthday and anniversary month among my family and friends. This dinner at the Old House in Courtenay was a birthday celebration. That’s Elinor Florence and her husband Heinz on one side, and opposite are me and the Cave Master.
When I have sat down at the laptop this month, it’s felt like a wrestling match with a story that refuses to yield. It’s unruly, and the ref keeps throwing down (up?) yellow flags. It’s a sure sign I need to take a step back.
The birthdays and anniversaries remind me that time marches on, the yellow flags remind me that sometimes I need distance from the stories to see them clearly, and the sunshine reminds me to get outside, breathe, and realign my priorities.
Health and family comes first, writing second, all else? Get in line. Spring will bless us just once this year. Chores will go on the rinse and repeat cycle ad infinitum. I’m choosing sunshine with family, good friends, and piglets. See you in June! With any luck, the yellow flag situation will be resolved by then.
Yesterday, I gathered my knee pad, gloves, and garden tools and set out to dig in the dirt. With a mind to battling weeds and plot holes, I crawled under one of the dwarf apple trees. A regiment of weeds had settled in during the winter.
Yesterday, however, it didn’t wander that far. Across the road I heard the bleat of new lambs, the drone of a neighbour’s lawnmower, the sputter of a chainsaw. Overhead, birdsong competed with the distant clang of metal as someone worked on farm machinery.
After a few hours of weeding, I felt refreshed, recharged. I’m now ready to tackle James, a character who is causing no end of trouble in the next Gift Legacy installment.
I’ve watched the smart-phone revolution from the sidelines, fascinated and horrified by pouting selfies, thumb-obsessed diners and throngs of commuters with bent necks and dropping heads.
But be warned! Pic-sharing convenience has a dark side. Last week I shared a piece of art I wish I hadn’t. Okay, it felt like art at the time, but it was my lunch. I’ve since crawled back up that slippery slope, but I have nightmares of making fish lips and snapping selfies in the bathroom.