Sunday, November 13, 2016

away alone

             I'm back from the writer's conference in Salem. There would have been flowers waiting in my room when I got there. Gingerale and fresh strawberries, too.
         The election happened while I was there. On a dozen counts, I missed Jim so much this week. So much to share, needing his level feedback so badly. Swinging between miserable, heartbroken horror for our country and then the salvation of a small, intense gathering of other writers wrestling publicly with issues they were having with their work - I got back to my hotel room one night and actually picked up the bedside phone, his number front and center in my mind. First I laughed, then I cried.

     I went to a professional tarot reader while I was there. A first for me. I told myself I needed the experience for the book. I got what I was really after. Along with a kitchen sink full of admonitions of avoiding negative people, she asked me who the Big Laughing mustache was and told me that he's always with me, encouraging me to keep working on my art and to be there for the babies. I didn't need to pay someone for that, still....