The trouble with contracting with myself to post a Wobbly every other week is that sometimes there’s nothing. Life in its other ramifications takes over. Around here, with our beautiful lakes, you have to recover from one round of visitors for the next one. We just got back from my son’s beautiful and happy wedding at Niagara on the Lake in Ontario.
Kelly and her family were at the lake with us and then drove us the seven hours to the wedding. Jerry and I in the back seat. Both of us fell asleep. Kelly says to Doron, “The kids are asleep.” There they go, the generations turning over.
Before the wedding, we of course visited Bachmann’s 5 & 10 store in Central Lake. They have a candy counter to die for, if you’re a kid. It’s been there all my life. My introduction to a habit it took me a while to shed was a candy cigarette from a pack I bought at Bachmann’s. They’re not the same! They used to have a red tip. These were thinner, with no red tip. They taste like the mints you get when you leave a restaurant, only without the peppermint stripe in them.
Think of that! My whole life. I must be the most blessed human on the planet.
The boys caught a pile of big largemouth bass, smallmouth, and pike, but did it all catch-and-release. Noah said he wanted to save the large ones to spread their genes. If they’ve gotten this big, they’re healthy and smart. I love this generation of children.
The beloved children formed an assembly line to load a cord of wood into the wood house (formerly the ice house), piece by piece.
Ollie played with his boxes, chewing them, jumping in them, jumping from box to bag and back again. He likes it here, where the birds are just outside the screen. He had his first cat-sitter when we went to the wedding. He seemed okay with it, but has been all over us since we came back.
Jerry’s girls and their children arrive Friday. My new plan: Put your own sheets on the bed. Jerry and I have for years acted like bed and breakfast hosts. But now my back doesn’t want to participate in changing all those beds.
I should say, by way of reporting on my work, my Diary was finally rejected by the press that’s held it for many months. The director had said to me, “I think we have to have this book!” But the acquisitions editor didn’t agree. I think they were worried about marketing this unusual book. It’s easy to get discouraged. Not many writers float along without being plunged into the abyss pretty often. It builds character, I suppose. The difference now, for my older self, is that I trust my work. It’s good work. I just go on. I also have a poetry manuscript. Let’s see where that goes.