Okay, I slept late. It’s miserably, blastingly hot. Well, not by a lot of people’s standards, but by mine. We don’t have much air conditioning up here, and it’s never a dry heat. You’ve heard me complain loud and long about the lack of a summer. Nature decided to give it to us in September, after the pool and the portable air conditioner were put away, after the killing frost, after enough cold weather to make the lake really chilly. It’ll probably reach 90 today, maybe higher. On the weather map Burlington is the hottest city, hotter than Orlando. It makes me grumpy.
But. I finished the book! Saturday was too hot to do much, so I sat on the desk and decided to write long-hand, since I seemed to have a mental block with this book and I couldn’t make myself finish it. I wrote for hours on the deck. When the sun reached me I moved to the side deck, and when the sun reached there I dragged the chaise and moved to the front lawn, which never gets sun. (We’re entirely private with 20 acres, btw. Back when we built 20 acres cost $15,000.)
I wrote so much the muscles isn my arm were cramping (not the hand, interestingly enough). I wrote until the happy ending, I even added a coda (maybe if I call it a coda Jenny won’t realize it’s an epilogue and yell at me. Just kidding – she never yells. She just looks at me sadly and shakes her head).
So, today. Business Monday, transcribing all those pages into the computer (my Dragon Dictate no longer works and the new one is $300 so transcribing R us.) And then the great unknown.
I got up in the middle of the sweltering night, came downstairs and dragged boxes and boxes away from the outside door in my office so I could get a cross-draft. And I do have a nice blue fan Crusie gave me, so I won’t melt.
Mind you, at 10 degrees I wear gloves. At 0 I button up my coat. Minus 10 and I might even wear a hat. Minus 20 I’ll wear silken long johns. I’m like the logger, if you remember that song.
Hmmm. I don’t think that works. Let me see. Oh, looks like it does.
Anyway, enough about the weather. It’s small potatoes (a great X-Files episode, BTW) compared to hurricanes and earthquakes, and I’ll stop bitching. We’ll go do geriatric tubing – I climb on the floatie (maybe even the one that kept dunking me in the pool) and we’ll tie a rope to the kayak and Richie will paddle me in the lake. It looks ridiculous and it’s wonderful. I do have the best husband.
But now – work. Work work work. And perhaps one more song.
Anyone joining me?