Nothing to write about

I am trying to figure out what keeps me from writing. This has been the longest dry spell. Sometimes I think it is because nothing happens here in Manchester (or Medford, my new workplace); on other days, especially in the weekend, I intend to sit down by the window, looking out over Lobster Cove early morning, when everything is quiet and pink from the rising sun, but then I get distracted, like wanting to buy egg fresh eggs from Hardy’s in Essex and I tell myself if I don’t go now they will be gone – this happens; or it is later than I thought and other things take priority, like work, or yoga.

I do write in my mind but that just stays there and then I forget the sentences. This morning a friend reminded me that there was nothing new to read and my sense of obligation kicked in. There are some things that I have been thinking about lately:

I am nearing the end of my physical therapy session – another phase in the recovery process. I can walk now without anyone noticing that anything happened to my left ankle – but longer walks remain challenging. I also discover what I can’t do (yet?), such as walking down to the Cove over the uneven and sloping grass, driving a stick shift car, getting into a boot or sitting cross legged and the warrior poses.

Tessa and Steve are trying to buy a house in New Hampshire and all the emotional and financial turmoil that comes with that. We are trying to be good supportive parents.

Watching Fahrenheit 451 – an old movie with gadgets that have become reality now, such as the enormous TV screen on the wall; we started listening to the book on tape but were turned off by the male actor’s female voice. The movie was great.

Another snow storm, a wimpy one this time.

My hard drive failed and the loaner I was given performs worse than my sick computer, a time sink if ever there was one. I realized that I think faster than a sick computer and, yesterday, on my ‘work-at-home-day’ finally gave up, closed the lid and read things I had accumulated. After that my mind was spinning with ideas which I led spin since I had closed the computer.

A concert of three spectacular performers of Celtic music. The themes: immigration, love and inebriation. The love songs were all sad and beautiful. But then I thought about the Irish books I had read about what happens after the wedding: the babies, the poverty, the drinking, the abuse and then everything is sad again. How can these things exist side by side I wondered?

A weekend visit from a friend who is publishing one book after another about spirituality, leadership, supervision and higher education. She gives classes and seminars all over the world – the soul of leadership, the title of one of her books, resonates deeply with me.

Preparing for a trip to Manila that starts with a plane flying westwards for what looks like an interminable time. This makes me think of the Malaysia flight which really became interminably. I had dreams about that.

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