Update
Someone has inquired as to the health and fitness of my appendages. I am happy to say they are still intact.
However, summer is a writer's trial, unless that writer is (a) single; (b) friend-and-family-less; (c) an old-school male who thinks home-office time is a divine right; (d) completely isolated in an ugly place.
Here is a truism: Everybody, yes, everybody, LOVES summer in the west. Our part of Washington has gone to heaven for three months. Every day is sparkling, warm, clear, and stunning without being humid, hot, or overcrowded. Every evening is cool and breezy and the stars and moon shine brightly in an immense, clear sky. It doesn't get dark until 10 o'clock at night, and everywhere you look there is water, beaches, and mountains to explore. Needless to say, our summer has been packed with activity and good people, and we've been loving it.
We have lounged on wide, stony beaches, bicycled under trees glinting with afternoon sunshine, hiked on top of the world in the Olympic mountains, explored enchanted, mossy forests, and kayaked among seals. We have eaten a lot of food and drunk a lot of wine.
In the midst of all of it, my brother married in Baltimore in a beautiful ceremony to a gifted woman we love; we visited our old stomping grounds in PA and socialized with dear friends; Martin started his job.
Yes, his job! For a while I didn't want to blog because my mind was constantly on repeat: "Hope we get a job. Hope we get to stay. Hope we are not without a home in two months."
To make a long story short, Martin is currently employed at Olympic College, a mere twenty minute drive from our house. His job this year is two-fold: part-time teaching in the English Department, and part-time administrator as Director of Baccalaureate Studies. Figure that out on your own and I'll give you a slice of really good cheese and a glass of Pinot Grigio.
The three girls have been watching Max and Ruby for the last--I don't know--hour or so, and I'm feeling acute parent-guilt. They are beginning to become fractious and horrible. Time to save them from themselves. More later.
However, summer is a writer's trial, unless that writer is (a) single; (b) friend-and-family-less; (c) an old-school male who thinks home-office time is a divine right; (d) completely isolated in an ugly place.
Here is a truism: Everybody, yes, everybody, LOVES summer in the west. Our part of Washington has gone to heaven for three months. Every day is sparkling, warm, clear, and stunning without being humid, hot, or overcrowded. Every evening is cool and breezy and the stars and moon shine brightly in an immense, clear sky. It doesn't get dark until 10 o'clock at night, and everywhere you look there is water, beaches, and mountains to explore. Needless to say, our summer has been packed with activity and good people, and we've been loving it.
We have lounged on wide, stony beaches, bicycled under trees glinting with afternoon sunshine, hiked on top of the world in the Olympic mountains, explored enchanted, mossy forests, and kayaked among seals. We have eaten a lot of food and drunk a lot of wine.
In the midst of all of it, my brother married in Baltimore in a beautiful ceremony to a gifted woman we love; we visited our old stomping grounds in PA and socialized with dear friends; Martin started his job.
Yes, his job! For a while I didn't want to blog because my mind was constantly on repeat: "Hope we get a job. Hope we get to stay. Hope we are not without a home in two months."
To make a long story short, Martin is currently employed at Olympic College, a mere twenty minute drive from our house. His job this year is two-fold: part-time teaching in the English Department, and part-time administrator as Director of Baccalaureate Studies. Figure that out on your own and I'll give you a slice of really good cheese and a glass of Pinot Grigio.
The three girls have been watching Max and Ruby for the last--I don't know--hour or so, and I'm feeling acute parent-guilt. They are beginning to become fractious and horrible. Time to save them from themselves. More later.
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