It's going to rain. The sky is overcast, damp. I like rain. But I want it to pour and then be done with--at least until after Sunday when my 11-year-old's band plays at Gina's Pizza at the Corona del Mar Christmas walk. That's the one day a year this town is like New York. The streets are packed. There's one long traffic jam. I'm a back East girl at heart, still, and I love it.
But I don't feel like writing.
Still, I work on The ASJA Monthly, which I edit. But I don't feel like writing--doing my own writing, that is. So I pull on my purple boots, wrap my clapotis around my shoulders and head out with the list for Mother's Market.
I go to the library and check out a book on CD (The Bean Trees by Barbara Kingsolver, which I read years and years ago, and loved). I am so addicted to books on tape or CD. You can listen when you walk, when you clean, when you knit. They help me have more patience with books. If the book starts slow, I don't mind so much. But I do find that certain readers are irritating. I checked out Don DeLillo's Underworld, which I only got to page 400 in (it's an 800-page book) and figured I'd listen to the rest on tape, but the narrator sounded like that digitalized voice you hear when the library calls you to leave a message that your book has come in and is on hold (my friend, Allison, does a perfect rendition of the voice), so I couldn't listen. And the narrator for Middlesex wasn't right either--not for me, so I turned the book in. I did love the narrator for Little Earthquakes, though, and loved the book, too.
Then I go to Mother's Market and down a wheatgrass juice and a Brain Power smoothie, figuring the combo should turbo charge my bloodstream, shop a little, and on the way home, stop at a little store, Paris to the Moon, where I read there was a section entirely devoted to Mother Mary, one of my idols. The store is all glittery and small. There's a pink area, a black and white area, a kids' nook with tin crowns from Mexico, and lots of vintage Christmas tree ornaments and snowglobes.
Onward to home, with goods and groceries. I clean up a little. Swiffer. Iron a red and white vintage tablecloth and spread it out on the table, in preparation for tonight, for Writers Block Party, my every other week group of talented students. Actually, all of people in my private groups, those current and departed, are talented, and it's a pleasure reading their work. My class at UC-Extension is a group of stellar women, bright and funny.
I still don't want to write, though, so I eat lunch: rice with soymilk and maple syrup. I know, I know... But I'm a vegetarian and Italian and like to eat a little differently.
I check in on my Gotham online class. Post a message on the blackboard.
Soon I will go pick Travis up at school. I have to prepare for my show, and my class. Maybe stop by Barnes & Noble and buy a new Moleskine notebook.
I don't think this will be a writing day for me.