A clanking sound of something banging on metal caught my ear and I looked outside to see from where the sound was coming. I looked off to the right and could see nothing from where I sat, so I stood by the window to get a better look. Upon the glassy water’s surface drifted a canoe with two inhabitants. There was a woman in the back with a bucket hat that was not in the least bit flattering and a child of about 10 riding up in the front who was doing more looking around than actual help with the paddling. They came into my view from the left and I could hear them talking. I hoped that they couldn’t see me spying on them from my window. I wanted to hear them say what a lovely place my place is. The way that I ooh and aah over my neighbor’s cabins, but I don’t think this is the conversation they were having. On such a beautiful day they were simply paddling across the waveless water through the steam that had yet to burn from the surface of the lake. They must have been taking turns as the girls and I spied a similar canoe earlier this morning gliding quietly in the other direction, but that looked to have two men in it, unless we just weren’t looking closely enough. To look up and see these things in your front yard always is awe inspiring. Even earlier on this perfect August morning, a family of ducks came to visit our beach. It turned out that there was a mother duck with her nearly fully grown family of 10 offspring. The lounged and preened on our sand and the shallows near our dock until we came out on the deck to take a closer look, and then off they went. I wanted them to stay so that I could offer them some scraps of bread, but they never stay long enough for that. It’s just as well, I don’t know how a family of ducks taking up residency here would work out anyway.
My heart has been breaking now for the last couple of days at the realization that we will have to leave soon. The thought of going “home” when my heart is here, is killing me. I don’t know how to go about getting here permanently, and although, I know we will, this time in between makes me crazy. I ache to spend my mornings watching the boats come and go while I am supposed to be penning my next masterpiece.
The kids are funny when they’re not fighting, so it’s a back and forth kind of thing. There is a fly I can’t swat and the dishwasher thinks it has to repeatedly remind me that it has finished its cycle by beeping intermittently incessantly. I know the dishwasher is done. I get it. It can wait. I am fairly certain the dishes aren’t going to grow legs and walk away, and even if they did, at least they’re clean.
This practice has deteriorated into less than what I would consider productive, but it’s not for lack of wanting it to be better. The phone ringing with my husband calling, and the children feeling it necessary to be extremely interested in me only when I am trying to write hasn’t helped at all. I glance over and see my novel laying there on the table and wonder what I should do with it. How will I know when it’s ready? Will it ever be? I am at that point where I am standing on the end of the dock looking into the cold red water. I want to jump in, but I am afraid. How cold is the water? What if it’s over my head? What if I forget how to swim? What if a giant yet to be discovered lake creature rising up from the depths (8 feet) and bites off the big toe on my left foot? Then what? So it goes with this whole writing adventure. I want to make this a career. The thought of it just being a “hobby” makes me nauseous. When someone says, “You like to write” it makes me want to throw up because it sounds like this is some childish whim. I want people to say “You are a writer” and I want to believe them when they do. So this is 20 minutes give or take, and it was definitely not the most ideal of circumstances, nor was it uninterrupted, but it’s something.
I definitely have to get up earlier in the morning.