All work and no play….

That’s me this week—a dull girl due to all work and, mostly, no play. I’ve been working on my work-in-progress and finding it slow and painful, like pulling teeth. But each day I add a few hundred words, though rarely the thousand words a day with which I often sail through manuscripts. It’s fun, even though painful, and I find each day when I quit, I know where I must go the next day. So I plug on.

And a new project came my way yesterday. An author on one of the lists I follow asked for an author who was a chef. Taking my courage in hand, I wrote that I was a wannabe chef with some cookbooks to my credit. We talked. It seems she wanted someone to develop a month-long online course—12 lectures with in-between q&a sessions—on creating a fictional chef. I did a little background study before I talked with her, so by the phone conversation I had some ideas to present. We decided on a deal. It’s easy to commit to something that is fifteen months away—yep, October 2020.

My first thought about that date was what an election frenzy we’ll be in by then. But my second thought was that gives me a lot of time to work up those lectures. I will be away from home for a few days this summer at least once, maybe twice—trips on which I can take my computer but not all the research books I need for the work-in-progress. So maybe I can work on those lectures, where all the material is online—or in my head.

My isolation has been broken two evenings in a row by welcome happy hour visits from neighbors—good talk, a bit of gossip, a pleasant time. I have made a batch of creamy jalapeno/cilantro dressing—I think it will be the Gourmet on a Hot Plate column this week—so I’ve been serving that with the wonderful potato chips we get from Trader Joe’s. It is so good but so addictive—I think because of the salts in the ranch dressing packet which goes into it. Like eating Buffalo Chips at Hoffbrau—you can’t stop and then you wish you had. Tonight, Mary and I deliberately put the dip out of reach after having more than we should. I surprised myself by eating a large salad and then deciding I also need a piece of meatloaf.

Running errands today also broke up my isolation. I went to the gas station where they told me if I parked by a pump, with my handicap sticker hanging from the rear-view mirror, they would come out and pump my gas. So I did that—and no one came. Finally I drove around to the mechanic’s bay where I could inquire and was told that the trick was to honk—which would have seemed rude to me. But I did and it worked—and they fell all over themselves saying they would get used to me, would recognize my car, for me to please be patient. Then on to the cleaners, where I get cheerful curbside service, and to the Speech and Hearing Clinic at TCU where someone comes out to make sure I get in safely. Got a new battery for one aid which was acting iffy, but some minor repair and cleaning made the old battery take on new life. Nice to hear with both ears.

Jordan is due home tonight from five days with friends in Key Largo. I am perfectly self-sufficient, but I do miss her when she’s gone.