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I am here to almost-finish a draft of my next book. There are deer and otters and seals wandering around, and all the birds in the world, and wooded paths that skirt the Salish Sea.
Somehow, whenever I come here, I am productive beyond my wildest imaginings. But instead I am replenished, and I manage to work hard. Which is not to say I am any kind of whirling dervish. But most days I sleep in.
Eventually I will meander over to my study and work intently just until I am in desperate need of a forest walk. Then I will wander off into the woods. Still, somehow, the pages pile up and up.
On this trip I am staying in a cottage situated at such an angle that I can see a little into the cottage across the way. I try not to spy or anything. My Neighbor is a bird of a different feather.
When I drag my ass out of bed at the shamelessly late hour of 7: Her light is on and her computer is open and she is sitting up straight, tapping away.
When I come back to my cottage for lunch, she is tapping. When I change into my pink sock monkey pajamas after dinner and write in my diary or pop a DVD into my laptop for an episode or three of Big Bang Theory, she is tapping tapping tapping. Maybe she is watching Big Bag Theory, too?
And because she is already working when I get up and still working when I go to bed, I wonder: Maybe My Neighbor works all night long.
Yesterday, I went for a walk on the forest trail, which is brimming with mushrooms that have come to life in these autumn mists.
While I was tripping along, visiting with the fungus and the fallen leaves, I heard a thumpa-thumpa-thumpa behind me. It was My Neighbor. She ran right past me, gave me a little smile, looked at her watch, and kept running on down the path.
I was wrapped in my wool sweater and striped socks and scarf against the dark woodland chill. Flush with health and sweat and pumping blood, My Neighbor seemed comfortable in her space-age fabric shorts and T. Now, it might sound as if my message is Holier Than Thou. I am certain that we are both happy and holy in our own ways and in equal measures.
My message is just this: Then eventually a different thought came: Bits and bobs hanging loose. Lots of work left. It seemed to me to be glowing.
Someone sent me a fun little video about productivity from Leonie Dawson. Mine looks like this: See how this lovely woman in the scarf is plodding along the path on her quiet donkey?
The road is long, and they are full of good provisions. The Pace of Creation is a mystery. It is different for all of us. Meanwhile, hey, I am almost-finishing a new book. More on that to come… Share this:Perfumes are the feelings of flowers, and as the human heart, imagining itself alone and unwatched, feels most deeply in the night-time, so seems it as if the flowers, in musing modesty, await the mantling eventide ere they give themselves up wholly to feeling, and breathe forth their sweetest odours.
I feel like any sort of school energy required at this point is pure oppression, like the universe is trying to destroy me. I’m so tiiiiiiiiired and I have five kids and that is just too many to educate well.
May 25, · At His Own Wake, Celebrating Life and the Gift of Death. Tormented by an incurable disease, John Shields knew that dying openly and without . Knowmad travelers Stan and Kathy’s two-week trip to Chile and Argentina is a great example of a well-rounded active adventure in South America.
Archives and past articles from the Philadelphia Inquirer, Philadelphia Daily News, and urbanagricultureinitiative.com After the unification of the Koryaksky and Kronotsky nature reserves, personnel from Kronotsky Reserve's Department of Protection care for and protect these territories' rare birds.