Grace Notes

Somebody had to do it.

So we volunteered.  With four Slimming World© comrades I proudly and cheerfully brought up the rear of the 5K “Dorothy’s Dash” for MS on Saturday.  Thank you, thank you.  No need for applause.

I had never been in a 5K.  Long, long time ago, I twice signed up for a twenty mile Walkathon.  The first year it poured so my friend and I found our way to the Statue of Liberty where we met up with a group of kids from the neighborhood and climbed to the top of Lady Liberty.  In soggy shoes and blue jeans heavy with rain, we climbed round and round the steep and narrow stairs just to pass by the windows in her crown and look out, very briefly, at a gray and soggy harbor.  You do that kind of thing when you’re 15.

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Since I was a little kid I imagined myself living the life of a writer. There I am, writing under the eaves of a finished attic overlooking a grove of trees with an incline down to a lovely lake.  I  watch the seasons change and draw inspiration from the fresh air and singing birds and all the lovely colors of spring, summer, autumn and winter…

The reality is I live in a suburb of Dallas— flat land, the only season we have with any regularity is summer—the hot bleaching burning kind of summer—complete with lots of allergens and heat that keeps me indoors with windows closed much more than is reasonable.

Instead of having a writing cozy in an attic overlooking a lake and a big fruitful tree, I have removed the dining room furniture and replaced it with a desk—- in the front room of our house— (the kitchen is big enough serve our dining needs) and instead of having a continual bounty of ideas to inspire my writing I have learned the lesson of any profession:  writing is hard work.  No little bird chirping inspiration on my window sill, no lovely breeze to move my hand to wax poetic on the beauties of nature while making astute observations on the human condition.

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