To me,
Yes, I’m still writing a book … after I fix a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Oops, first scrounge in the freezer for bread, put in a load of wash and start supper. I’ll turn on a video and call about car repair, then I’m back to … oh yeah, the book.

This task is not too daunting if I remind myself that this is merely another New Year’s get-organized project. I’m compiling all the little sound bites of reality that I’ve written over the years from primordial pen-and-ink to high-tech e-mails and it’s no more of a task than reorganizing a pantry that’s been moldering for three decades.

I’m writing a book twenty minutes at a time amid intrusions, so that’s what I’ll write about; Life—that thing that keeps interrupting while I’m working on my dreams.[1]

As I read through the torrid missives of my life, I find me asking myself the same question my children hate to hear: “Wow. Did you learn anything that time?” I appear to be a connoisseur of failure who is only blasted with enlightenment amidst the trauma of the current life drama and when the gust finally subsides, I’ve forgotten.

No good ever seems to come from trial and tribulation, so I have resolved that when I experience a beam of pure understanding, I will take note of it, right there on the page—a reality bite—so that there is some remote hope that I might remember!

Reality bite: Just for my information, there is no vacuum made that will suck up wheat berries. If the sucking level is changed to mow, you can hear it hit the top of the vacuum and ricochet back to the carpet, being driven ever deeper by the beater bar. That’s what I get for praying for patience.

[1]Who knows who said it? The first 100 of 308,000 hits didn’t know either.

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