LIFE GOES ON
Finally! I’m back in my Traveling Writing Room. It’s been a long winter. So, as we speak, I’m sitting in a campground, not too far from home. I always like to keep my first trip of the season close by just in case I need to send out an SOS to one of my sons, or all three of them for that matter. What if the TWR breaks down or I fall out of it and break a leg or something?
So far, the TWR is being selfish with its water flow. I think it might have a hole in its freshwater tank. This means I have been carting water every day. Also, the air conditioner is making its own rainwater. It’s hot, okay? A steady drip falls from the air conditioner into Atticus’s water bowl. Not bad.
So, what have I been doing here all alone? Thinking. Doing a lot of thinking. The kind of thinking that makes resolutions and promises and promotes change. At least that is the goal of this kind of heavy-duty thinking. We’ll see.
I’ve also been praying. God and I have some things to work out. It seems I’m slipping backwards a bit on my grief journey, which is to be expected since I just lost Mom in October. I’ve had trouble hearing God lately and I’m hoping the quietness under the trees and stars will get both of our attentions.
And, of course, I’ve been writing. I’ve been dabbling on my next project. I haven’t settled on it yet, but I’ve been experimenting with a couple of stories that have been circling my creative solar system. Neither has thwacked me on the head yet. It’s hard to explain how I write. I’m a pantser first, but about ten chapters in, a little bit of plotting takes place. By chapter 25, I have to re-plot because my characters seem to refuse to follow the outline. However, an interesting thing is happening, I’m also dabbling in non-fiction. This shouldn’t surprise me since I wrote a newspaper column for seventeen years and every article that I’ve published in magazines were all non-fiction pieces except one. I’ve written devotionals and inspirational pieces for as long as I can remember. Maybe, I’m being called back to my non-fiction roots.
Camping during a pandemic is different. While the campground officials say the grounds are all filled up, about fifty or sixty campsites sit empty. The only bathrooms open are pit toilets (another reason to bring my own). People, while friendly, keep their distance. Families are camping together. Friends are not. Half the folks camped around me are grandparents with grandchildren. Giving the parents a break, I guess. I’m sure it’s a win-win for them all.
Life is happening in spite of a virus trying to bring us to our knees. I am writing and wrestling with God, as usual. People are slowly venturing out with tents and bicycles. Yesterday, as I sat by the lake watching the kayakers, a dad and small child floated down the river squished together in a one-seater kayak. The child vacillated between laughing and crying, depending on if dad was paddling fast enough. I watched them dock at the boat ramp and emerge laughing and holding on to each other. I’m thinking it was a good day for them both.
I think most of us are beginning to have good days. Be grateful.