I'm recovering from my weekend hike. The youngest J, my husband and I hiked out to the lighthouse on the Dungeness Spit. I was too lazy to climb to the top of the lighthouse. Perhaps it was the 5 1/2 mile hike on shifting sands, bumpy rocks and lumpy driftwood that stopped me from lugging my frame up that tiny ladder to the see the glorious 5 1/2 miles that I would have walk back across to reach the nirvana of the PT Cruiser. I'm still hobbling around and I haven't touched that blobby blister on the side of my big toe. Well, we saw many seals and many more gulls. We all agreed that walking on dry seaweed was similiar to walking on a carpet of crunched up tortilla chips.
The Spit was Saturday,and on Sunday I polished the wobbing egg; and I sent it rolling this morning, just after midnight, down the internet hill and into the open arms of the waiting editor. I haven't heard if the egg made it yet or if it splatted at the bottom of internet hill. I heard back from the editor; the egg is still in one piece; he's rolled it down another internet hill, and I will find out if it manages not to splat at the bottom of the next hill in two weeks.
I hope everyone is having a holy snappin' week!
1. Write those last six pesky chapters of my working project.
2. Send out submissions to magazines.
3. Write an article about writing.
Today I'm totally doing nothing until the return of the teenaged Js. They will be back from summer camp around 4. I expect they will sleep for 24 hours before they will venture out for mass quanities of food and then long telephone/im conversations for another 24 hours.
Last night the youngest J said he would never speak to the boy next door ever again. He couldn't forgive him. It was impossible. This morning they rode bikes for over two hours and then they went swimming.
The great man is he who does not lose his childlike heart.