It’s hot and cold on the blog; I know this. I marvel in awe at the post-rate of some of my peers in this blogging pursuit and am reminded that it’s been a long time since I wrote with the sole intention of gaining readers. I write for me and those who want to come along for the ride. There are many lovely readers who persistently drop by and comment and it always makes me smile. When I write I have you in mind, if anyone.
Some of my reluctance to write has been the final acceptance that my writing quarters were not up to scratch. Due to the house build hiatus, my husband and I are sharing an office area in our home where I had a little old kitchen table that served as a desk. The wrong height and god-awful ergonomics but pretty and gnarly and weathered. I eventually ordered a gleaming new trestle desk in white (of course) and I sit at it now, marvelling at how my shoulders aren’t hunched as I type. It’s a clean slate. It has yet to be snarled up with paper and postcards and the mess that seems to accompany any area where I work.
When my husband is here, in our shared room, I have to endure corporate conference calls, oh-how-I remember-them-well. Some so tense you could hear a pin drop, when I instinctively know not to type or shift in my chair for fear that someone on the line will hear my presence. The pup at my feet; willing him not to bark. In my corporate days, the world could begin and end on a conference call; such was the magnitude. A million decisions being made across the wires (are there still wires?!) linking up countries and time zones and ‘virtual teams’. Funny to think.
Of course now my days are spent making laundry decisions (light or dark?) and plotting my book in my head. The realisation that I will write that novel that has been lurking inside me for so long has come as a relief. The existential crisis has abated.
The winter persists and when certain songs play on the radio, we are transported back to those balmy Floridian days in the summer when we cruised alligator alley in a gas-guzzling American car and watched the palm trees whizz by. Or enjoyed the sunset over the water at the beach with that distinct feeling to appreciate, appreciate, appreciate in case the memory was too nebulous to hold on to. I remind myself that even my wintry, English, darkened sunsets (over clod-covered fields) would be magical to someone, somewhere. It’s only to me that they are ten to the dozen. Doesn’t stop me photographing them for Instagram though…
It is half term this week, signalling many logistical challenges to be spread between myself and my husband. He has returned from a 10 day trip to San Francisco (conference; not to be confused with conference call) and is now a husk of his former self! Nothing like continuous buffet food and long haul flying to mess with your circadian rhythms. He has man flu. Ugh. Meanwhile I am treading water really, going through the normal motions of life, but with the kids and their buddies in tow. Such is the contrast between school term time and breaks.
Living in a half-built house is starting to get on my last nerve, as our student-style, temporary plywood kitchen is falling apart. It’s ugly. And I hate ugly. I alternate between deciding to white-wash everything, propping up and smoothing down or just leaving it to fall apart. There seems little point as we await the return of the builders some time late Spring. When is Spring coming? It’s bittersweet as I know it brings with it the whole circus of renovations again. One day it will all done repeat after me… 😉