7:49am Impossible to write when the babies are up. Henry still asleep, but the big kids, well, dominating the sound space of the room, the lower floor, and I fear the entire house possibly waking Henry.
Kids erupt into firefight, then quelled after I inject a tone. I’m tired and am in no mood for the loudness, the voices mine included.
Another fight. Can’t write. Again me failing to wake at the hour, the hour. Just going to sit here, with coffee… settle into day. Not force anything.
I play Mario with Jack for a bit but then we both tire of our inability to pass this one level, so I tell him I’m going back to work looking though wine photos and edit them a bit, write from them. He sits next to me continues to act silly but then poises to write like me.
Finally get around to reading Karl’s letter. His brother passing, then Maureen’s. Life doesn’t know anymore than we do what’s in the next scene. Finish the book, I tell myself. Jackie asks me if I save all my “papers” on this device. I tell him yes. Then he grieves of not knowing what to write. I tell him to write about that and I think he does. He then requests Starbucks breakfast. I tell him sure after I get in some writing.
We work together here, both in xmas jammies, yes me too. Listening to Tycho. Thinking of something Karl said in his letter, about the nothing vs. everything issue with writing in response to “What do you write about?” He addressed music, now Jack and I have some playing. Why. For mood, atmosphere for creativity. Jack then can’t find his past writing sessions, asks me where some “chips” are, meaning memory sticks. He gets distracted in his search, pulled away from his writing no matter how much I stress that we can find one later, that I will ensure pages’ safety. He ignores me, looks around.
Karl also said he does’t know how I find time to write with all this “youthful energy” I think he said, around me day to day. Funny, I don’t either. One solution is to write it, capture it. Jack and his littler partners will not be this age for eternity. As wine, not staying something you can sip, forever. It dies eventually, and you don’t know when. There is not time marker or date or promise. That’s why I always come back to wine, the vineyard…. The life and lack of promise, the absence of certainty.
Just too a picture of the two of use writing. To capture it twice with the shot itself and me then writing about it. Coffee done, need more, possibly a drive to Starbucks. Spent a lot yesterday, with wine and the family Target run, and breakfast so have to re-write today’s financial architecture. And buy that design program, finally, maybe. And if I didn’t, let’s say I couldn’t, how could I generate some business. A project… so….. not written here.