Was Saturday. Housework. Greenhouse work. Kids in the pool. It's amazing how productive I can be whilst procrastinating. It's amazing how quickly I can move and how efficiently. How busy I am. I told myself. So busy. Not a wasted movement. Like a machine, not a thought in my head as long as I can outrun them. But no one can run for very long from their thoughts. Thoughts travel faster than the dead.
Mostly the thought I ran from was that I was supposed to be writing today. It's right there on my planner. Saturday. WRITE. I worked double time all week. finishing poppets for orders and packing prints for shipping so Saturday would be free.
But the wind blew the canvas from the greenhouse and scattered the pots all about. The kids noises were distracting. There were patches of weeds to pull. The laundry was in a jumble, there were crumbs on the floor and who knows what Soosi's stashed under the couch?
In the evening I stood back and looked at room after tidy room, feeling very little satisfaction and too tired to do more than sleep.
When I woke this morning the house was quiet. I was the first up. So I made some coffee, then sat outside to drink it. I saw the largest, roundest bumblebee I've ever seen.
The bee and I had a bit of a chat.
Bees can be very wise, you know.
I confessed to the bee. I've lost my nerve somewhere. It must be here somewhere but I didn't see it yesterday in all that cleaning. Not in a closet or under any rugs. The bee told me that I don't need nerve to work on the book, what's that all about? It's not a test. It won't be graded. No one is looking over my shoulder. What I need are my notebook and some pens, which were there on the table behind me. Silly human.
So today, on Sunday, I made a drawing in my book and I wrote words all around it. They were honest words and the first few were hesitant. But soon enough they began to politely follow each other out, one after the other, spilling over onto other pages and eventually, leaving me with a story.
I like bees.