After a busy weekend of (1) giving a well-attended breadmaking class at the library, (2) hosting our New Directions board meeting at a new Thai restaurant around the corner in Ayutthaya and (3) grinding out some chapters of my novel to post for my online class, I fell into a grateful slumber round about midnight.
Not one to dream much, I was awakened by metallic tapping that sounded like Morse Code. Since there's only me that lives here, I thought it was the little people in the other room, you know, elves or leprechauns, the billy goats gruff, faeries from Ireland, or most likely I thought w/a shudder, Cinderella's mice scampering about the kitchen.
Jeez, I thought. It's incumbent upon me to find out what the heck is going on. I should tell you first of my peculiar sleeping arrangements. I sleep down here in the den next to a new gas fireplace that keeps me warm. When the temp gets high a very noisy fan clicks on so all you can hear is the buzz of the fan. Well, tonite, I had the heat on very low so the fan never kicked on.
Therefore the house noises were unmasked. I could hear all the sounds the house chooses to give off plus outdoor noises like the long whistle of the locomotive.
When I used to get manic the house would yield up creaking noises. I'd usually tiptoe into the kitchen to take an antipsychotic. Transient psychotic episodes I used to get. What a life!
The Morse Code continues after I switch on the light. To my surprise the sound hails from the laundry room directly next to the den. The tapping continues as I enter and switch on the light. Now the noise stops. What on earth was making that metallic tapping sound? I peer into the empty washing machine thinking perhaps a critter is caught in there and can't get out. Empty. The laundry tub? Empty. What then is it?
I return to bed and sleep with the light on. I do not like sharing my abode with either animals or humans. I like living alone and having sole possession of the remote control. I probly watched the George Carlin Special four times. Which of his routines are your favorites?
I have no place for comments on here for fear of losing control! Oh, the stories I've heard about nasty comments. Just take a look at the YouTube comments.
A piece of whole wheat bread anyone? We had 15 kids crammed in a little room kneading their bread on long tables covered with butcher paper. I went around to each kid giving them pointers, telling them what a great job they were doing. I gave em all nametags just like at New Directions. They were a lively gang, middle schoolers mostly, two boys among them and two home-schooled girls.
Adjoining the little room is the library kitchen. I always bring in a bread dough to bake when I give these classes so that we can eat a real bread at the end of the class. We could smell the loaves as they were baking in the oven. Can't wait to get up in the morning so I can have another piece of bread! Long ago I forbad myself to eat in the middle of the nite. I have however drunk quite a bit of water since the Thai food was quite salty.
We had quite a good turnout for our board meeting which always takes place over a good meal. How else are you gonna get people to attend? Bribery with good food works wonders. I'll post a photo on the ND website after Freda sends me the pictures. She's my favorite 83-year-old in all the world. Lemme tell you something about old people and this includes myself who is 63 and one month, not that I'm age-conscious. We absolutely cannot friggin believe how we got so old so fast. When we look back on our lives we view the catalog of amazing adventures that got us to this place. (Quick, Ruthie, name three: uh, I used to read Billy Goats Gruff to my kids. I walked across the Golden Gate Bridge with my friend Kim w/the round eyeglasses. My fam & I visited the Marine base where I was born when I was 21 and reading Anna Karenininina.)
Hubert Selby Jr is a dead writer I'm gonna briefly resurrect b/c of what he said. He looked back on his life - well, let's let him tell you: I was sitting at home and had a profound experience. I experienced, in all of my Being, that someday I was going to die, and it wouldn't be like it had been happening, almost dying but somehow staying alive, but I would just die! And two things would happen right before I died: I would regret my entire life; I would want to live it over again. This terrified me. The thought that I would live my entire life, look at it and realize I blew it forced me to do something with my life.
Ain't that just about the bestest thing you ever heard about Why you wanna be a writer?
