No Time To Blog

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My apologies for the slow blog week. The days keep slipping away from me. For about two weeks now I've been walking around thinking, "By tomorrow I'll be caught up." You'd think at some point I'd clue in that I'm lying to myself, but it turns out I'm pretty gullible...

What have I been up to? Survey says:

  •  Art Council Open House. I sit on the board of the Rockingham County Arts Council and we're launching a kickoff gallery party on Sunday, December 13th, from 1-5 at the Dan River Art Gallery in Wentworth. Lots of meetings, planning, phone calls, editing brochures and invitations, etc. 
  • Along with that, I discovered that I am the worst fundraiser on the planet. Yes, on the entire planet. I had to make some fundraising calls...
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Why The Simple Life Is Simply Beyond Me

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I just finished reading The Gift of an Ordinary Day: A Mother's Memoir by Katrina Kenison and it's left me feeling out of sorts. The premise of the book is one we've all heard before: Pay attention to the small moments that make up life and you'll be a happier, more content person for it. 

Unfortunately, and probably through no fault of her own, Kenison's writing had the opposite effect on me. After reading the tactics she uses to simplify and appreciate her life, I'm left feeling like I'll never measure up. Kenison, an editor who for sixteen years worked from home while raising her two sons is, by her own admission, put on this earth to nurture. Plants, people, flowers... it would not surprise me to find out she and Martha Stewart share a blood lineage or a telepathy link.

 

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My Life As A Sitcom

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I really think I missed my calling in life. I should be the head writer for some prime-time sitcom about a married couple and the wacky exploits they get into when the harebrained wife does things like forces her long-suffering husband to go vegan, forcefully brings stray cats into their home, and, oh, I don't know... pours a bottle of olive oil on her head? 
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One of THOSE Days. . .

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Today was one of THOSE days. It started off okay, until I left the house to meet my friend Ed for lunch. At 11. At Panera. I'm sitting at a table and it's 11... 11:15... 11:30... I grab my cell and call him. 

"Hello," he says cheerfully, when he picks up.

"So are you just blowing me off or are there darker forces at work?" I inquire.

Phone silence. Then a clearing of the throat followed by, "I am NOT blowing you off. Blowing you off would require my having remembered that we were supposed to meet in the first place..." 

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