December 8, 2007

• I bought drapes.  Now I have heat AND drapes, and I’m loving my house.  There’s a very small room, directly across from my bedroom, which I have set up as the writing room.  I had all the carpets cleaned months ago, and they left the furniture all piled up in the center of the room.  The only reason I go in there is to get off-season clothes out of the closet.  Until I got drapes.  So I set the room back up  a couple nights ago, and because the sun is pouring in through the windows today — that in itself (I live in Oregon) is call for rejoice — I sat down in the crazy orange patterned chair with the matching ottoman and looked over at my writing desk.  Aside from the dust, it was just the way I left it:  empty.  It’s a little secretary with delicate hinges supporting just enough mahogony to accomodate my notebook.  I try not to lean on it.

  I consider this computer area more of an office desk.  There’s so much paper piled here with stock stuff, plus the tv is usually blaring, displaying the ticker tape, so it’s hard for me to concentrate long enough to form a good sentence.  The phone’s here, too, and it always seems like it’s ringing.  The biggest distraction, though, is the dog.  Like now.  She comes by every other minute to rest her soft, whiskery muzzle against my left hand, pushing my pinky finger off the A key to remind me that I said we were going for a walk.  I even have my walking shoes on but I am waiting for a burrito to heat up.  Mmmm, it’s something I made last night with black beans and a zippy sauce. 

  I looked at the wall in the writing room, opposite the secretary, and noticed that print of The Thinker I bought at an estate sale.  It really belongs over the desk but that would have required a hammer and nail.  And as I was looking at him I got that feeling in my gut I get lately when God is yelling at me to pay attention.  It’s time to write again.  Seriously.

  • 3:20 pm
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