#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Charles River, Morning View
He brings me coffee, and then I rise, after daylight. My mood is grumbly, for no good reason. Except this happens, every year, near as this to Christmas. I go out in boots, it’s mild, but the river is freezing, the brook still covered in snow, except the edges. Moody, moody. I don’t let it get the better of me. It’s fresh and getting bright and brighter by the day now. What does this grumble need, in order to be silenced? It’s a fine day, a good day, and I like, in the afternoon, going out alone with Frank to the supermarket, of all places. We must do the Christmas food shopping, and I’m glad for company. Strangely, going out in the car on a drive with him during the pandemic feels like a date. We’re going somewhere! And I don’t even mind that it’s to a chore, it doesn’t feel like a chore. We talk the way we do when we’re driving. A breath of time to feel, what’s in your heart? That we haven’t lately said? We get many groceries too. I am looking for a time in the day, uninterrupted, to scrabble at the poem draft from last week so I have one for Thurs. morning workshop. Oh! In the late morning, a lovely visit from the neighbors–four little children and father at the front door, with an annual Christmas treat. I open the door and Suzi and Charlie greet them too enthusiastically, and in the ruckus of their arrival I’ve left the door open and the littlest one, the only boy, toddles into the house behind me, and lickety-split he spots the train set, so, of course, I want to let him have a look and show him how it runs, and now all three girls and father, (apologizing) are at the train and it’s running, but the boy picks it up and knocks the train off the track, but that’s fixable, and the whole chaotic time of it is fun, and I don’t yet have their treat ready, but I better get cooking some cookies. I’ve been waiting for my youngest to come home for that. Well, that cheered my mood quite a bit, the flurry of it. Another lovely thing, my younger sister called me and we got to chat, and she called just at a perfect moment when I could relax into the call and connect and feel how lucky I am to have her in my life. Not until after dinner did I get my time to work on the poem and it fussed me up pretty badly, as I just didn’t think it was going anywhere worthwhile. So, I stopped and sulked about it, and decided it’s a dud. Then we watched tv, a PBS series, “A Suitable Boy,” that’s set in India in the early 1950’s. Then, I just didn’t want to end the day without a poem for Thursday. I thought about starting something new, but felt blank. I opened the the frustrating one again and kept chipping at it. And something shifted. And I felt the grumble going away.
