I didn’t write yesterday because I was on the road from the far northwest corner of Missouri to Illinois to visit my family and celebrate Christmas. I’m in town now, typing this at Jeremiah Joe’s in Ottawa, IL, watching children misbehave next to the Christmas tree in the big display windows left over from when this space was Famous Department Store.
I’m getting old. I’m talking in that way older people talk: “I remember when this was Famous Department Store …” It’s inevitable that, when one gets old enough to see things change, that one documents the change aloud. I don’t like admitting I’m old; there’s still that part of me that thinks younger men should be conducting courtly displays of mischievous intellectualism toward me, but I’m officially past my expiration date for that.
The white Christmas this year will be only in our dreams, given that highs this week will be in the 40s and there’s no precipitation in the forecast. I might be able to take a Christmas hike at Starved Rock State Park. I wonder if that’s a thing.
It looks like my dev edit has been delayed till New Years (thank goodness; I wasn’t ready for a Christmas present that would make me cry!) No, I know all of what I’m getting for Christmas, unless the universe decides to surprise me with good news about my writing.
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Yule was yesterday, Hanukkah starts tonight, Christmas is Wednesday. Good greetings to all of you!
Tag: surprises
Surprises on the road to the memorial service
On the road to Champaign-Urbana to my mentorLes’s memorial service. Richard asked me if there were any surprises on the guest list (of course I don’t know the guest list).
There are always surprises on Les’s guest list. Les knew a lot of people, so there will be more people I don’t know than those I do. But Richard wanted to know about surprises.
I don’t expect to see my ex-husband. I expect to see at least one ex-crush, but as it’s been years (I won’t say how many), it’s not going to cause any turmoil. There’s a possibility I might see an ex-boyfriend, and that would be a surprise, of course.
I haven’t lived in Champaign-Urbana for, I think, 25 years. I was just as — flamboyant? That’s not the word — Les said I had a large aura. That’s as good as any explanation. I was more emotional then, having not been diagnosed as rapid cycling bipolar then. I felt more insecure, because I hadn’t learned that admitting one’s insecurities made them a lot more manageable. I became obsessed with difficult, ambivalent men (the ex-boyfriends listed above).
I knew a lot of people back then, and some of the people who found their way to Les’s cluttered living room were because of me. So there might be surprises.
Words Like Me 