Here I am on the Tiny Porch. Carl was here, but he bailed. It’s 55F, which is too chilly for naked paws. There’s a drizzling rain. I can hear the raindrops hitting the maple leaves. I’ve had my Bigelow Vanilla Chai Tea (much better than Twining’s. More aromatic.) And I had a small pack of Lance’s PB crackers. I’ve done my “morning pages.” I thought I’d try doing those again. I’ve tried in the past and found them pure torture. BUT, I know very well that you have to give to get. Not quite sure what the “get” will be, but still. This is day 4. It does seem to be getting easier to ramble about nothing—not that I don’t do that all the time here anyway. “Morning pages” are supposed to be a form of meditation, which is not what I’ve come to think mediation is, but onward and upward—I’m being chastised mightily by an irate squirrel.
I forgot to say that when I was in Big Lots I saw this little plaque on a stand on the clearance shelf. It said, “Hi, There.” I thought at the time what a good prop for a booksigning table. I, of course, don’t do booksignings anymore, but I still think it would be a good prop.
Now I hear sirens in the distance. More than one. I say Aaron’s Prayer for them. The rain is still hitting the maple leaves. The squirrel has gone silent.