Updates: Writing, Swimming...and Mousies

I don't even have time to think about being bored right now.

The book is coming along -- but it's late. I'm late. I've been sending my editor a chapter at a time, thinking this will keep him quiet for now. Kind of like throwing Charley a dogbone, hoping it will distract him.

It hasn't... and it doesn't.

Ghosts and Legends of Colorado's Front Range covers a pretty big area -- literally a couple hundred miles down the backbone of the Rockies. We don't even think about navigating it, because that's what you do, when you live in Colorado: you drive.

     And if you're headed north to Denver, or south to Colorado Springs, you sit in traffic.

Deciding to write a 130-page-or-so book about this area is nuts. What was I thinking?!?

Fort Collins, Greeley and Johnson Corners are done. Longmont, Louisville, Boulder ditto. Even a bit about our beloved Rocky Mountain Quilt Museum in Golden. After a long and painful slog through the Denver chapter, it's done, too. I'm headed down toward our town, Castle Rock, then further south to Monument Hill and Palmer. (No, not driving. Writing.) I've learned so many odd facts and stories, I'll be the life of this year's parties.

     We eat bits and pieces...or Little Caesar's Pizza. Everything else gets done when it has to be done. Including sleep. I used to keep this kind of schedule in college, but this late 50s body just can't do it anymore. I need regular sleep.

Which is another reason why I'm late. 

Hemingway said that when he was writing, it was like being 'a blind pig in the jungle.' For me, it's like stepping into deep water and having it close over your head. I sink down, down...blowing a few pathetic bubbles as I go. As the work progresses, I start to swim up. It's there, the light bouncing off the the water -- I can see it, but am still too deep to take a breath. Gotta keep moving,  taking those regular strokes up toward the surface.

Or running, as the case may be.

The landscape outside is gray. Gray clouds and gray-brown yards. The mountains are snowy-topped, but we, down here on the Flatlands, are looking at dry, sandy hills and leafless trees. Thank God for the daffodils; they and the hyacinths are blooming cheerfully.

Our indoor mousie issue has been solved for several weeks now, thankfully. A few outdoor mousies dug a hole under the front steps, though, and have enjoyed emerging outside at 1 a.m. or so, and pattering around until 3. (How would I know this? Have I been up to hear them, under the windows outside? Hmmm...) The Brick caught one in a live trap, and he/she is sputtering like crazy inside the bars. No doubt his/her mate is equally pissed at us for the imposition.

 Charley is fascinated. He keeps wanting to sniff the mousie, and paw the trap. The last time we caught something in a live trap -- a squirrel -- Sir Charles knocked it down the hill, rolling over and over. By the time we got the squirrel out, he was thrilled.. and very dizzy.

     Of course Charley wants to do the same thing this time. I'm just hoping he doesn't get bitten. (Update: found out it was a Norway rat -- but it was big and fuzzy, more like a hamster. The rats in the folks' corncrib were scary-looking guys who would kill and eat you for supper. This one had big eyes and looked soft. As the Brick said, "It was almost cute.")


Back to work. 

Everything feels sideways now, but relief is coming soon.