Bored, bored, bored!

That was me yesterday, though I hate to admit it. I am between projects, which is a bad place for me to be. Makes me not only bored but probably unpleasant company. A blog host sent me a list of questions for a post I’ll do in May, and one of them was how I manage to be so productive. The answer is I’m compulsive, and being at loose ends makes me very unhappy. I have never learned to piddle. I used to have a friend who could happily watch paint dry, and I always thought my inability to do that was a character flaw.

Yesterday, my Fort Worth family was in Coppell, helping Christian’s parents, half my friends are sick one way or another, and here I was with a couple of books neither of which interested me. No dinner to cook since everyone had uncertain schedules, so we had loaded baked potatoes—dinner doesn’t get much easier than that. I was at those dreaded loose ends. Much as I like to think I’m creative and independent and of even distribution, I have days like that.

I am glad to report that today was much better-- emails kept me busy until church time. After church I made some sauces for a Dagwood sandwich for tonight, made myself a tuna fish lunch, took a nap, and assembled the sandwich—which wasn’t as good as the last time I made it. I think the problem was that I had asked Central Market to slice the round of sourdough and they didn’t do it—I hacked at it with my best bread knife, but hacked is the operative word. It was okay but not what I wanted. I think we’ll abandon Dagwood for an old friend—the poor boy.

I was relieved that National Day of Hate passed without apparent incident. In fact, I got a good laugh out of one aspect of it. I read that one of the sponsors was the Goyim Defense League. Goy is the term members of the Jewish community use for males not of the Jewish faith (goyim is the plural). It is not meant as a compliment. As a one-time shiksa (the term for non-Jewish females, especially those who marry a Jew, and yes, it’s derogatory), I know this well. I find it amusing that an antisemitic group turns this Jewish term upside-down and applies it to themselves. The irony is that they seem, unwittingly, to accept the implication that they are lesser beings. Probably true.

Today was the Cowtown Marathon, and our house is about at the halfway point. Occasionally I glanced down the driveway to watch the runners go by. Heaviest activity was around nine-thirty, just when my family was trying to get out of the driveway. Watching, though, I was taken back forty-five years to the first marathon—a simple affair compared to today’s event which drew thousands to multiple races and raised funds for a variety of charities. In my mind’s eye I was seeing sleet and snow and ice-covered streets. It was truly an event to remember, not always in the best way. For that year and several years afterward the marathon was a family event—my kids wandered all over the Stockyards (did I really let them do that?) while I did publicity and their father manned one of the medical stations. A different time, a different life.

Tonight I am happy to report I am back in the routine. I get the editor’s comments on Irene Deep in Texas Trouble, so that will keep me busy for a while. Life is good.

Sweet dreams, everyone!