Pajama Days

Comfort personified in baggy flannel pajamas and snugly soft Angora fibers woven ‘round my feet  . . . I am enjoying the better part of one day in total reclusion.  A day filled with music and thought and my writing.  Leave me alone!  Leave me to it!  I’m thinking of ways to live my life.  Making a list and checking it twice.  I need a list to check off: One item at a time to show progress that my life is moving forward.  And then I need to write, simply write and then write some more! 

It is cold inside this tiny house.  Should I turn on the heat?  Should I not?  Finally, I turn the heat on.  It’s much nicer now that my nose is not cold.

Whoever wrote (and it has been written) semi-retirement (or total retirement) is grand need(s) to stick their head(s) in a pickle barrel for twenty minutes and reconsider that thought!

The telephone rings.  It is my daughter and we talk for nearly two hours.  The time is not lost to idle chatter but admirable words from someone who is highly regarded in my world.  She is moving closer to her sister in Ohio and I want to travel with her.  Suddenly I find myself longing for two towns of my past and one is in Ohio.  Troy, Ohio is the quaintest and friendliest of towns.  To me it is simply a splendid place to live.  And it is the only town I have ever regretted leaving, truthfully. The other place is so far in my past it does not to exist any longer except in my memory. 

I think to myself: This is what happens when you get older and you stay until after the noon hour in baggy flannel pajamas and soft Angora socks. 

Silly old woman, I think.

My friend’s dog snores on the Davenport because this is what she does.  My friend is working.  I am attempting to write but it is not going so well.  The interruption from my daughter’s telephone call gave a good reason not to try for a while.  After-words the excuse, the delay was no-longer available to me.  I had no choice but to let my fingers find the keys again forming words into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, paragraphs into (finally) a page done.  Some days are like this.  The words don’t come easily and interruptions are welcomed when, perhaps, they shouldn’t be so welcomed.  But they are! 

After the nearly two hours of important discussion and banter but still in my pajamas I was back at it and it seemed to work better for me.  One page, two pages, three . . . amazing, simply amazing how much written chatter I have inside my head.  I take a break to eat.  Adding some cooked mushrooms to yesterday’s homemade french onion soup, slicing off a piece of bread and deciding what to drink.  O’Doul’s, unsweetened tea, Coke Zero (as always water and milk) are the choices.  I chose the tea.  I settle down again.  My mind continues to encourage my fingers to tap on the keyboard forming words into sentences.  The soup is excellent, very yummy to the tummy and the bread is a no-no on my diet but I like to too much to avoid it.  I find my writer’s voice again and I’m off and running. 

Satisfied with todays work I shut down the writing session.

I really do need to get out of these pajamas!


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