The secret ingredient is always love…
Dedicated to Sass , who is one heck of a cook, and who always makes me wet my pants whenever we talk and laugh on the phone.
I don’t have time now to practice perfecting my pie crust recipe. I’ve spent all morning and nearly half the afternoon at the kitchen table trying to troubleshoot WP issues. I am getting more and more involved with the “tech stuff” so I’m spending less and less time time writing. This does not make for a happy girl, entirely. Getting bogged down with the technical “how-to’s” interferes with my blogging for this neophyte blogger. As a result, nothing gets done. Breakfast dishes are still soaking in the sink at 2pm. (Yes, I wash dishes by hand). Heck, I’m still in my robe. Hair is not brushed. It’s not a pretty sight. I have to shut down my mind and shove all the things I want to write about to the back of my mind and: getupfromhereanddosomething.
Then Frieda-(cat), the little darling, needs attention. Why are cats sometimes like 2 year Olds? She jumps onto the kitchen table where I’m writing and bats at my pen. (It’s getting more attention than her). She rubs her head on my hand. She bites a flea. She licks herself. She looks at me with goo-goo eyes. The table is piled high with books, coffee mug, notepads, pens, phone and tablet. All the necessary paraphernalia I need to get my creative juices flowing and to get down to the business of writing. Oh, and Frieda.
What I really need, (and is on my wish list), is a writing sanctuary. Not long ago, I read about a woman who blogged about her lovely little writing cabin in the woods. THAT HER HUSBAND BUILT, just for her. How twee. I tried not to be envious, honestly, I did. The closest my husband has come to supporting my writing/blogging is his daily query of “what’s for dinner?” when he sees me at the kitchen table. The two are not remotely related, see what I mean? Just yesterday, he walked into the kitchen while a pot of chicken was simmering on the stove. I was, as usual, busy writing away. “Is that dinner?” he asked, peering into the pot. I raised my head and looked at him. I paused and thought perhaps now wasn’t a good time to tell him that no, actually, I was making gourmet homemade food for the CATS. You know, something really tasty, with mashed carrots and chicken broth, too. “Um, no…I said. I thought about the Hungry Man Tv dinner I had grabbed at the store and thrown into the shopping cart. How was thso at going to sound appealing now that he had salivated over the simmering chicken? So, I did what all good little wives do, (sometimes). I lied. I said “no, honey, that’s for homemade chicken pot pie for your dinner….tomorrow!” Now I’m not really proud of this, but I did it for him. I couldn’t let him think I was putting the cats before him. That would not sit well with the male ego. He has already accused me of loving them more than him….and well, you get the picture. Why is it that sometimes grown men are like 2 year Olds?
Which brings me back to the pie crust. I had opened my big, fat mouth and told a wee, little lie. So there it was, the lie I had to make good on. And here it is, already well into the afternoon with no chicken pot pie in sight.
Until next time friends, I’ll leave you with this: “Happiness is homemade.”