If we were having coffee, I would tell you that I have begun reading On Writing by Stephen King. I haven’t read anything from him in years, but when I was in junior high, I read King voraciously. Carrie, Firestarter, Christine, IT, I skirted around Cujo (but I’m already scared of dogs so I didn’t work on it too hard), and the four novellas from The Four Seasons.
I haven’t read anything from him since, and reading something now feels like hanging out with an old friend. It’s nice and I might look up other stories. Do you have any you’d recommend? (Although Cohiba might have some suggestions, too.)
If we were having coffee, I would tell you that a couple of my friends out here don’t know how to swim. One of the turned down SUP because she could’t swim, and another one wanted to stay on the shallow end of the pool. I can’t imagine not being able to swim.
Wee One got sick this week, so while we would have gone swimming these glorious days, we didn’t. Cohiba was out of town and she was feverish and I’ve been watching a rash slowly creep over her, wondering if it is legit or my worried mother eyes. Today, the day the car was in the garage, I was able to get her into the doctor and find she has Hand, Foot and Mouth. It’s just a virus with a fever, but she has been sleeping
If we were having coffee, you will already know that we have a date for the move – the end of September. I’m mostly glad that we have it, but I’m going to hate as the weeks tick down. I’ve been thinking about home: have you ever felt like you’re at “home” or have a “home?”
Cohiba and I were discussing it. I think I will always feel like St. Louis is home to me. Not that I want to go back, but I guess because I have so many memories and know it so well. Cohiba said he never felt at home anywhere, but he and his family moved a lot, like every five years. I wonder which is better? We agreed that home, now, must be wherever the other is and Wee One, which is awfully sweet.