I had a hot-mess-mom moment this morning. Well, that's the whole year, but stay with me...
I was deep into writing a new book, I'm about 30 pages (60 paperback sized pages) in and it's wonderful. Fah-Low has returned. I have thanked the gods profusely. I think it's Mark Twain who used to say that he wrote every day but Sunday... he just didn't want to "lose that thread." It could be someone else and I don't have the exact reference, but I get the concept.
That thread, that invisible, magical tether to the creative realm, from which story flows, incessantly, like an IV drip... if you're lucky. And I am, for the moment.
So, there I was... mid-scene, and the battery was low on the ol' Macbook. I couldn't find the charger cable. Anywhere. Upstairs, downstairs. High, low, it was gone. I began to panic... then, I noticed the little plug-in rapid charger for my Canon Sureshot, with the battery inside, is also not where I left it. More panic.
I prayed to Mimi, my departed maternal Italian grandmother to go get St. Anthony for me, because that's what you do when things are missing and you grew up with old Italian ladies who thought chanting with necklaces could help you locate valuable items.
It might've worked though... because... I surrendered to my frenzy. I pushed everything off my plate. S l o w e d down. Made the bed (found the charger.) Tidied up the table and the room. (Found the camera battery.)
Thanks Mimi and St. Anthony.
And I was so delighted and laughing at myself... and saw the lesson in it. And I wanted to talk about it, so this just in... I am recording a new bunch of episodes for The Jelly, my podcast. I see the metrics, I appreciate you listening (still!) and I have more for you. Soon.
I forgot how much I like to hear myself talk. Made up with my SnoBall.