#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
From the trestle bridge
The Easter Bunny came to this house for the Special One. First things first. Toys for the yard. And then a long walk, more raking. Satisfied that the yard and garden are a bit cleaned up for the Easter Egg hunt. I hide them all. The youngest is skipping the hunt in favor of baking her surprise: it’s called grandmother cake; a middle Eastern recipe, I think. A new tradition for Easter. It’s sunny, but not warm. A quite cool day after all for being in the yard. Our guests come, the hunt begins; all the eggs by happy children are found. I put out a lunch with Frank––we end up eating indoors in the room that is supposed to be our dining room. Makeshift tables set up in the stripped down room. Oh well. So many dinners and parties and gatherings in this room. And more to come. This is the year of rebuilding. I have taken a break from my swim the past few days as the yard has been calling. And I am tired in the afternoon. Frank and I nap. I let him make dinner and clean up and he doesn’t mind. After dinner, I know I need to get some work done and I’m not sure I have the energy. But I take a cup of coffee into my very quiet office. I am prepping for a workshop I’m leading Friday for IWWG on writing monologues for the stage and I am getting my actors and their monologues lined up. And still, I need a poem for tomorrow night’s workshop. I take out the draft of one I started a week ago in the Fleda Brown workshop. It’s an Easter poem, I guess. Yes, it is an Easter poem. I come away with a decent draft. The time in my office has paid off. And my daughter’s time in her kitchen this morning has also paid off. I want another slice as a reward.
