This isn’t about Writing

I am indulging this afternoon. I went out this morning to do some errands a morning of errands, which included dropping off books to the used bookstore only to bring home more books, the opposite of what I was trying to do, and came back home absolutely frozen. After our sweltering and unseasonable May, June has been a wet and cold disappointment. I looked at my fireplace and thought, why the hell not?

So I have it blazing while I bake cookies for the Canada Day writers BBQ we’re having. (Randy, if you are reading this, you are invited! Not sure if Sylvie has sent out word yet!) and while I melt into a puddle of luxuriant warmth, I’m sipping at a bottle of homemade white wine and eating cherries. Cherries! I feel like I should be spread out on a leopard-skinned chaise waiting for the Cabana boy to return.

The cats have quite taken to the heat, too. Greyson is curled up on the ottoman for the papasan chair and Babs is curled on the love seat with me, disproving Mom’s theory that she wasn’t a heat lover.

And the cookies? So good they would make your Momma cry. Mmm, mmm, MMM!

As you may have gathered, I’m not writing. And I’m not worrying about writing,

Sometimes you need a day off.

Back to my book!

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