Driven to Reflection

Tea: Vanilla Jasmine

Music: Jim Croce, "I Got a Name"

Time: Almost midnight.

Sorry I've been away for a while. I'm still sorting the new site and re-sorting out life with daily deadlines. (I used to have them as a journalist. I can get used to it again -- and before long, I will rediscover the benefits of writing several days' worth of work in advance so I don't have to freak out as evening rolls in and I don't have the next day's post written.

I meant to be back last night, but my car had other plans. It died. (I don't think it meant to. It just did.)

The battery worked. The ignition didn't -- not even a click. This had me speaking fluent ARGH, a language composed entirely of those four letters (always capitalized) in varying sequences. To wit: "ARGH! GHRAHHH! RRRRAGHAAAH!" translates roughly as, "Why won't this car start? The batttery's working! Please start, car! I have to pick my son up at the high school ten minutes ago!"

This threw me for several loops. Picture third grade, cursive practice, learning to write the letter "l" in lower case, and you have an idea of the number of loops.

I had places I had to be tonight. The kids had to get to school this morning, and wanted to get to a church activity this evening.

And the car was dead.

If we lived somewhere with decent public transportation, this wouldn't be a problem. But this is the suburbs. It's car country. The buses run in the morning and the evening.

And the car -- the only functional car -- was dead.

I've been trying to cultivate equanimity, to breathe and count my blessings when faced with this sort of thing. And I failed ... miserably.

I let myself be wrung out by circumstances, to the point where I had no energy left for anything but dragging myself to bed.

And you know what?

It wasn't as bad as it seemed.

The kids got where they needed to go. The problem turned out to be a blown fuse, not a dead starter. Help came from several directions.

And the car is no longer dead.

There's a lesson in here for me, if I'm smart enough to learn it. If I claim to believe that my daily needs (and those of my family) will be provided for, then I'd better start acting like it.

Hither, Meet Yon

Tea: Lemon

Music: The Doobie Brothers, "Black Water"

Time: Night.

Wow ... just looking at my weekend schedule has me wiped out, and it's only Thursday.

I'm solo parenting Friday and part of Saturday, because of a women's retreat at the church.

These are my whenabouts so far -- and because my life is what it is, they are always subject to change:

Friday morning, ca. 8-9 a.m.: Rouse son for ten-mile hike (still have no idea where we're going).

Friday afternoon, upon returning: Trying to get out some pitch letters before ...

Friday afternoon, 4 p.m.: Pick up Mrs. Steep from work, drop her off at church.

Friday evening, 5 p.m.-whenever: Arts stuff, arts stuff, arts stuff. There's an opening at Leopold Gallery in Brookside, and the usual Third Friday things downtown and in Columbus Park.

Saturday: The two oldest kids have things going on at Mission Arts and Eats, here in the home'burb, plus my son has play rehearsal. So, basically, morning to early afternoon, I'll be getting them where they need to go and trying to check out the artists. Then I'll try to catch part of Holly Swangstu's opening at J. Bird Studios in Kansas City, Kansas, and then I'll bail to cover a 7 p.m. Kansas City Wizards game. (I have to be there well before kickoff.)

Oh, did I mention the Plaza Art Fair is this weekend? I'm going to have to cram that in Sunday afternoon, in between church stints.

Then Monday brings three deadlines, 1,300 words total.

I need a clone. Why should I have all the fun?

Cup XLIV: And Reams to Write Before I Sleep ...

Tea: Earl Grey Bravo

Music: Suzanne Vega, "Tom's Diner (DNA Remix)"

Time: Morning

It's not quite deadline day, but the line is definitely getting its affairs in order.

I've an arts profile to finish, pitch letters to bat out to all fields, much audio to transcribe, and a double handful of fictional characters nudging me to move their lives (and afterlives) along.

So ... if I'm head down for a while, present in body but not in mind, don't fret. I've just stepped away for a while, and I'll be back.

But just because I'm pounding away on my own words and turning others' spoken vowels and consonants into ones and zeroes doesn't mean you should sit around and be bored.

If you're in Kansas City, get out and enjoy the glorious fall weather. Go to Loose Park, or wander among the outdoor sculptures on the grounds of the Nelson-Atkins Museum, or do some caffeinated people-watching outside at The Crave Cafe.

(But wait ... I have wireless and a laptop. I can get out of the house, too, so long as I get my work done while I'm at it. Permit me a short Charlie Brown dance of joy for technology.)

Today's story:

Robert Hitchens, "The Black Spaniel"