Some Socializing and Writing

I am arriving late at the cabin this evening. I went out Wednesday, yesterday, as I have been lately, spent the evening with Tristus and found out about her book, the Bones of the Magus, which is through a local press, Broken Jaw press, and then went back to Mike and Carol’s where I chatted with them, talked to Jackie and Tara and then Eileen just before I went to sleep.

The next morning, I woke with a strange vivid dream about being in a Russian train station which is fading now, but I wrote sixteen hundred words, hopefully enough to make it into a story. Then I talked with Mike and Carol, chatted with Colleen finally, thus making it a two leen day, and went to Millville where I spent the evening with Miriam and Gandpa, and then the rest of the family as well once Kim and Dennis came home.

I left for the land after midnight and the moose on the road slowed me somewhat as he trotted up the road ahead of me until he turned off at a side road. He was really dim in the dark, and I almost didn’t see him and even as I drifted back to let him trot ahead there were moments that I couldn’t see him. I can see finally how people hit moose at night, I could use better lights.

Now it is after one in the morning and I should work on the Russian story before I sleep, but I am tired I am torn between wanting to do a good job on it and worrying I will forget the poignancy and pathos of the scene. Miriam and I pulled up another root ball for an asparagus, so I will have to go out for that tomorrow, and I should process the pallets I brought in the trunk. Also, I should do a count of some sort and see if I have enough to make another layer on the floor. Maybe I should insulate it with half inch foam board, which would make an even better building. I’m not sure. That would cost a few hundred and since I don’t heat that part of the camp it may not be necessary. I should make that decision when I go to Woodstock to get groceries on Wednesday, perhaps. I have a bit of work to do over the next week. It’s nice to be back though, and to have contacted the people I care about in the meantime.

About Barry Pomeroy

I had an English teacher in high school many years ago who talked about writing as something that people do, rather than something that died with Shakespeare. I began writing soon after, maudlin poetry followed by short prose pieces, but finally, after years of academic training, I learned something about the magic of the manipulated word.
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