A pleasant nothing day

 

Dancing with more grace than I ever managed

Today I found a quote and two new words for the day that I want to share. That alone tells you what kind of a day I’ve had. The quote (stolen from I don’t remember who): “Reading is breathing in; writing is breathing out.”

The first word: myrmidon: “a follower or subordinate of a powerful person, typically one who is unscrupulous or carries out orders unquestioningly.” I read that guess where? In an article about people who are still promoting trump’s Big Lie, and I immediately had to look it up. Once I found the definition, it was so appropriate I couldn’t resist sharing. A lot of names come to mind, more every day as more facts are revealed.

The other word is much more personal: it’s balter. I’m not sure what context I read it in, but it struck me, maybe because it was my last name with one letter added. And then the definition really struck me: it means to dance gracelessly. I’m quite convinced that’s how I’ve gone through life—dancing, but without a lot of grace. It doesn’t bother me, because dancing is a good thing, a sign of joy.

Gracelessly makes me think of my mom who once said to me, “I wish I’d given you ballet lessons. They would have made you so graceful.” Don’t get me wrong: I adored my mother, and we were best friends for all the years until her mind slipped. But she was right. Even as a child I had no reliable sense of balance. As a young married, I had a good friend who was equally graceless, and my ex referred to us as the dance team of Ox and Klutz. I guess it’s all about accepting who you are and how God made you. It doesn’t, however, help my graceless state that right now, as I write, I have one eye on the Olympics where American women are running like gazelles.

And yes, it’s been that kind of a day: I was at my computer almost all day, and I can now see light at the end of the tunnel. I’m about to reach the end of Irene in Danger, and in the last week or so of a spurt of writing, I’ve added lots of words more effortlessly than usual. For a long time with this novel, I thought I never would get even to the 20,000-word mark. A typical cozy mystery is at least 60,000 words and preferably about 75,000. I’m now at 40,000, but I feel I’ve got a head of steam. Once I write that last scene, the real work begins—editing, expanding, filling in plot holes. The first draft of a book is sometimes sheer agony, like pulling teeth; editing and rewriting is almost pure joy.

The Covid surge is much on my mind these days. The last couple of times I’ve been out to restaurants I’ve forgotten about masks, only to remind myself that I must start wearing one again. In the Stockyard, for instance, I saw no masked, and Pru reminded me, “Not in this crowd.” But I have friends who were inadvertently exposed to someone who tested positive a day or two after they were together, so my friends are quarantining and self-testing, interspersed with professional testing, for two weeks. Would that all our citizens were that responsible and that caring for the community around them. I’m so alarmed by the people who resist vaccination, for whatever reason, that I have begun dreaming about being in a small group and learning that one of the people is not vaccinated.

We all know how the issues of vaccination, politics, and personal freedom got entangled. It traces right back to the former president. But that people still are singing that song appalls me. I think governors DeSantis and Abbott should be arrested for dereliction of duty. Wouldn’t that be a hoot—Abbott who is threatening to arrest Democratic members of the Texas Senate if they come back for the second special session he’s called (spending untold millions of taxpayer dollars). We have gotten to be such a divided, litigious, angry society that I sometimes despair that the atmosphere will ever change. But mask wearing should be above that—it’s a matter of public health, not your freedom, etc. A bit uncomfortable? There’s a wonderful graphic on the internet showing what happens when they intubate you. Don’t talk to me about freedom or discomfort.

Until this current surge is over, I will not knowingly see anyone who is not vaccinated. And I don’t intend to be shy about asking. I asked the wonderful lady who cleans my house and gets all those corners I can’t get from a walker, and yes, she has had the shots. Still, she wears a mask when she is here.

I have rambled on, but I leave you with this suggestion I saw online: what worked with enforcing seatbelts was the slogan, “Click it or ticket.” How about “Mask it or casket.”

Sweet dreams everyone and dig out those masks and put them on again.