ELIZABETH LOOKS FOR A RUT

"So-and-so is in a rut." People say that like it's a bad thing. Personally, I'm looking for a rut to climb into! About seven weeks ago, I moved to our Washington (state of) house for the spring, summer, fall (until we have 7 overcast days in a row, then I'm outta here!). We drove up here from Sedona with a car crammed to the headliner. Yes, it took a few days to pack. A few more to drive.

We stopped to see our kids and grandkids for three-four days on the way up, turning the whole trip into a nine-day-adventure.

I'd been home in Anacortes less than 24 hours when I came down with the kind of hives that made me want to take a vegetable peeler to my skin. Two weeks and two rounds of high-test medication later, I was exhausted but no longer looked like I'd been parboiled and whipped with a willow switch. I'd barely recovered and unpacked the last moving box when it was time to pack again and fly to Kuaui for my nephew's wedding. Ten days in Paradise, during which it blew close to gale force every day. We raced around for the wedding and crammed in sight-seeing. Then the long flight home and three-five days of unpacking, washing clothes, and recovering from jet lag. (Hate to say this, girls, but lag doesn't improve with age. No matter what the ads tell you, your body knows the truth.)











When we got home, our daughter stayed with us for a few days before she returned to Sedona. No sooner did I recover and resume writing my "work in progress," BLUE SMOKE AND MURDER, than THE WRONG HOSTAGE came out in paperback. Stuff like that is always good for multiple messages from New York, brillantly timed to ensure that I was distracted all but an hour or so a day. Things were finally settling down when it was time to prepare our boat, and ourselves, for a one-week adventure in Victoria, BC (Canada) and Roche Harbor, USA. I took my work with me (optimist that I am), and did zero words per day. Our boat was being "fitted" with a dingy, which required several strange men aboard and endless conferences on just which tool to use to ensure that the "cradle" holding the dingy would be secure no matter what kind of seas we encountered. The boat isn't big enough for all that hammering and yammering not to interfere with what passed for my ability to concentrate. Even with my iPod turned up to the point of pain, I could hear everything that was said and done on the upper deck. Like I said, zero words per day. It took two days longer than their one-day estimate to finish the work, but finally our new dingy was happy in its cradle, the upper deck was quiet...and it was time to leave Victoria for Roche Harbor and a boating rendezvous. The rendezvous was everything a gathering of like-minded souls is supposed to be--noisy, lots of people, lots of food, zero words per day. We got back to Anacortes Sunday, late morning, in a squall with driving rain. The tide was out, so the ramp we had to use back up to our house was like climbing out of a well with only handholds.

But we got everything transferred from boat to house.

Finally. I answered backed-up emails, unpacked, did laundry, had four other folks over for dinner Sunday night, and got ready to work on the next day, Monday. Did I mention that Monday is the day my sister moved from one condo in Anacortes to another? Well, it was. So we all pitched in, got her moved, fed people lunch and dinner, collapsed in a heap, ran errands Tuesday morning (furniture, groceries, mail, all the stuff that comes with moving), sat down to work on BLUE SMOKE AND MURDER... And realized I had a blog due by Tuesday night.

Bang head on keyboard.
Repeat until urge to scream fades.


Write blog.

Have you ever wished for a nice comfy rut to crawl into?