A few weekends ago, I went over to my friend Jenny’s gorgeous house in neighboring Leicester (about a 25 minute drive from door to door). Her home, built in the 1800’s, is a testament to the staying power of quality craftsmanship. A former glassblower and metalworker, Jenny now spends her time as a bike mechanic (she recently founded an awesome bike school on her property that will teach you all you need to know about the world of cycling, and then some!), as well as a hobbyist beekeeper.
I’ve met a good deal of wonderful people through this blog. A handful of them have gone on to become trusted friends and confidants. I’ve come to know the regulars, sort of like an online version of “Cheers”, looking forward to their comments and smiling to myself when they drop by.
Lately, I’ve felt as though I’m continually engaging in a Sisyphean battle with the 8-ball; I’m finding that I’m perpetually behind it. Maybe it’s on account of the colossal shift in my schedule since late March, when I handed over the remaining bit of text on my last book, “Keeping Bees” (the fourth in the “Homemade Living” series). My days opened up into wide expanses of time. The schedule of the past two years coming to an abrupt halt, I’ve found myself attempting, futilely, to juggle all of the balls that have fallen to the wayside and been relegated to the back burner while I’ve labored fastidiously on writing.
Wow. So, the other day, when I talked about hopefully catching my breath this week? Yeah, so much for that. This past week was full of sheer madness. To begin, my new job, which I adore, saw me up at 4 a.m., twice. In order to arrive at work at 5 a.m., it’s necessary that I tug-of-war myself out of bed well before the slightest sliver of sunlight warms the eastern sky. I know I’ll get used to it, but doing it twice in one week was brutal, to say the least.
When I was in junior high, I was a member of the choir. In addition to wearing a crisp white dress shirt, black slacks, and a bowtie with an elastic band for our performances, choir participation also included singing a host of songs that have left indelible marks on my adolescent memory.