I sequester myself in the woman cave and write every morning. I’m in the zone, words flow, it’s wonderful.
One afternoon we run errands and it’s sunny and warm. We’re on the way to the green grocer and I say that it’s almost time for iced capps. Gerry abruptly turns left into the Tim Hortons parking lot and buys me one. It tastes like spring.
The next day the temperature drops ten degrees and it rains. The gardens are happy; we snuggle under blankets.
We visit the local plant nursery.
“I feel like we live here,” I say on the third day in a row that we go.
The door tricks me every time. Is it a pull or a push? Do I use the left one or the right? I swear they switch it up every day to confuse poor souls like me.
Gerry takes soil samples to be tested, and I browse the seed displays like I’m looking at books at the library. I can’t resist picking up a few more packets. I buy herb plants for the tea garden I plan to create in the back yard, and lean in to smell the hyacinths in bloom.
We play chess at lunchtime, and as often as I can convince him at other times. I’m determined to practice. I’m determined to beat him.
Gerry buys me a new tripod and a wide-angle camera lens. We talk about going out and shooting but things don’t quite align to make it happen.
He has many conversations with his friend about their annual fishing trip. It’s off, then it’s on, then it’s here, then it’s there. They’re still working it out.
We talk about a special anniversary coming up, and how to mark the occasion. We consider possibilities. We’re still working that out too.
I plant peas, and sow short rows of spinach and radishes. I set a reminder on my calendar to sow a bit more in two weeks.
I think about taking myself on a solitary writing retreat. I say it out loud and it seems more like a possibility now that the idea exists somewhere other than just in the back of my mind.
I switch up the clothes in my closet, and make a pile of things to give away that I haven’t worn since the last seasonal switch-up. I decide I need to go shopping for spring things.
The week unfolds gently. I feel like time is a precious commodity.
I think you should take yourself on a writer retreat! You would love it and get so much done!
It is sounding more and more attractive. Thanks for the encouragement!
Jennifer Louden has some great resources
I haven’t heard of her so I’m off to check her out. Thanks!
Time truly is a precious commodity. So proud that you are able to write peacefully every morning.
This time of life is a true gift. I was just talking with another creative soul about that yesterday.