Janie woke me up this morning by shaking my shoulder. “Mom?” she whispered. “Mom?”
I rolled over, pried open an eye, and saw from the hallway light that she was fully dressed, including coat, earmuffs, and backpack.
“Oh no, am I that late?!” I grabbed my bedside clock, knocking over the Leaning Tower of Read.
Four forty-five.
Thank God. Fifteen more minutes before I had to get up.
I set down the clock and closed my eyes, willing my heart to slow down.
“Mom?” Shake, shake. “Mom?”
My husband grumbled and stuck his head under the pillow.
“Honey?” I mumbed. “Why are you up so early?”
“Can we go to Dunkin Donuts?”
“Now?”
“Yes. I’m ready. I even brushed my teeth. You said if I got ready early, we could go.”
“Um . . . gimme a minute . . .”
And that was pretty much the whole day—off balance and trying to catch up. It was one of those days where I’d finish one thing, or half of one thing, and two more things would show up needing to be done. Or re-done.
Good things happened*—but I couldn’t stop to savor them, or reply to half of them.
So I think I’ll stop now.
Forgive the short post—I’ll see you tomorrow.
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*I received excellent advice—and quite a few corrections—-for a scene of Pigeon that worried me, a specialist at the University of Chicago agreed to talk to me about sickle cell anemia, and my friend Grace is setting up a “Hollywood Hype” Book Club—read the book, watch the movie, compare and complain.
Earful of Cider 