Fifteen days to the hamburger summit. More or less. If we count the dog days of June here as sort of a ‘run-up.’
This weekend the ‘Ex’ and I shipped the kids to far away places, sorted by gender, with her taking the girl to camp for eight weeks and me putting the boy on a plane to dig in Italy for a month.
This week either I said ‘No’ or they said ‘No’ to five attempts at a change of c arrear … kinda like five lottery tickets that wound up crumpled on the floor of the car with the empty wrappers and coffee cups.
So all that stuff that took up June is over, and here it is, all those things I say that keep me from writing … gone.
Though my daughter swears that a month without kids is gonna result in a father with a new girlfriend, I am not so sure. I can’t see that the kids are an impediment in that arena. More that the last couple of years since the last divorce have run more in the direction of ‘crank and recluse’ than down any kind of lover’s lane.
But, I do say those darling kids keep me from writing, and now we will find out if that particular threadbare excuse has any weight to it.
And, I am apparently stuck with the ‘day job’. I am not going to be instantly transformed, merging passion with work, vocation and avocation twining as I ‘following my bliss’, getting paid to write. Or save the world. So, I get to do this ‘on the side’ like all the other poor schmucks trying to make a go of it.
“Moonlight in Vermont,” they say, “or starve.”
Appropriate, really, as I am writing this on the porch of the Bennington Motor Inn, with the full moon just come up over the ridge. Peaceful summer night on the road …
And I want to show my face among bloggers again. So, … time to start writing again. Fifteen days to the summit, fifteen posts? Cool breeze running tonight. After the heat down in NYC, lets anything seem possible.