I haven't been abducted by aliens

I try not to bother you when I’ve little or nothing to say; at the same time, I don’t like to leave too much ‘dead air’ that might encourage people to think this little corner of the semi-literary world is no more. Today I’m caught between those two imperatives so I thought I’d just do a little catchup.

I’m a helper, it’s how I see myself. For a long time as a young adult, not so much. But lately – say, since becoming a dad – I can’t help when I see someone struggling wanting to jump in and make things right. Occasionally, my natural exuberance for all things helpful is misdirected. Such was the case this week when I insisted that Mary and I come and help out a friend post-surgery. I was deaf to the message being sent that my friend wanted nothing so much as to cocoon until past the worst of the painful recovery. It took Mary to remind me to just listen.

Okay, I get it now. So I am the pup who has retreated to behind the couch, tail wagging frantically and ever watchful for the vaguest invitation to re-engage. Sometimes puppies need to be taught that their loving approach becomes a burden when overdone. Message received.

Instead, Mary and I are taking a couple nights at a bed and breakfast out on the peninsula. We need the solitude and quiet time together after all the crapola of the past year-plus. Leaving the manse in the capable hands of One and significant other. Can’t wait to hit the road.

Two and significant other are settling into their place and jobs and life in Chicago. The new dog is working out famously.

Most of my writing energy is still focused on Da Book. The closer I get to final draft, the more I realize this character or that needs more of my attention, this or that transition is too abrupt or too elephantine. The beloved chore continues.

Love my work, and especially the people with whom it puts me in proximity.

All is well at Chez Me. More soon.