My post-holiday malaise has been epic this year, threatening the very existence of this blog, and encroaching on my son's 2nd birthday festivities. I've been a puddle. Despite the avid encouragement of the formidable Shirley, and midnight sympathies of the effervescent Amelia, I've been immune to inspiration and have spent my time altering the shape of my couch cushions to perfectly cup my ass. Until today, that is.
The Brewer family car is an old Mercedes we bought for pocket change from some sort of automotive sadist. My husband has spent many Saturday hours undoing the "custom" damage done by this Dr. Frankenstein, not to mention fighting the normal aging process. The result is a temperamental monster with creamy handling, lusty acceleration, and a tendency to leave me stranded. I shouldn't be surprised, I always fall for the dangerous ones. At any rate, the extreme weather events this winter in the Northwest coupled with the latest breakdown has meant very little driving for me the last two months.
Today I drove. I took a little 100 mile round trip through sun pierced fog coiling off bare branches, red tailed hawks tipping their dusky hats, stark black trees anchored by russet winter grasses, and flood plane field-lakes turned Tchaikovsky by a flock of migrating snow geese. My synapses fired, my internal alternator buzzed to life. I am inspired.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
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welcome back friend...or welcome? welcome back to the synapse firing world is what I meant. I can't wait to see what you do here...and yes, that was meant to be intimidating.
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