It's been a rough month, but I was able to get away for a brief writer's retreat with some old and new friends. I worked through my manuscript, and am feeling reasonably content with it. What I really need to be doing is writing again in order to really test its strength and organization--maybe soon, maybe by September.
I think I might go ahead and submit it to a few places again in the fall and see what kind of feedback I get.
Mostly I've been thinking about the night boat, waking up in another country or across a border, having slept through the crossing.
Or I'm at Jiffy Lube trying to find an inexpensive solution to the fact that the AC is not working in the car--and finding one! Replace the air filter and make sure there's actually engine coolant.
Or I'm picking Edith up at camp, waiting in the long line of cars to see her happy face--she loves camp this summer.
Or I'm stretching Robert or trying to make him laugh--or encourage him. He's making some progress with taking the spoon. But now we've shifted him from trying this on my lap, where he feels more secure, to sitting in his blue feeding chair, where he feels less secure. I feel this odd sense of reconciliation to his disabilities lately--not acceptance, but reconciliation--the matching up of accounts, the settling of scores, the alignment of adversities.
Or I'm at yoga, pretending my somewhat aging body can actually bend and twist and etc. But I'm firming up and gaining strength, particularly in my upper body and shoulders.
Mostly, I am not thinking particularly literary thoughts. But I have faith that I will return to them someday soon. There's been so much to settle, reconcile, etc. Isn't the night boat an odd progress of reconciliation? You wake up in a new place, your last memories of a place past--how do you find yourself again and move forward? By reconciling where you are with where you've been, what you have with what you've lost, comparing the points of the scenery.