Awakened in such a funk this morning.  The more I tried to shake it, the deeper I sank. It’s cold and beautiful this morning but it didn’t help.

But what lifted my spirits this morning, funny enough, was remembering that my little blog will turn three years old on St. Joseph’s Day.  And how can a site, dedicated to, and born on that wonderful saint’s feast day be anything but good?  And that made me remember how much I enjoyed the Tennessee Williams Literary Festival and the lively discussion I got into with those three panelists.  The day before yesterday, did something I haven’t done in a long while–I wrote a fictional short story.  Escaped into a world of my own creation; it took me only about two and a half hours and I was pleased with the outcome.  Don’t know what I will do with it yet.  Gave it to my friend Gilbert for him to read and give his opinion.  I feel more coming on.  But it was somehow good to write fiction just for the hell of it, and when this happens, or when I really write anything, I don’t strain and pull at it and beat it to death…that drumbeat starts in my head, that rhythm and the words flow.

Sunday afternoon, a bright sunny afternoon, sitting in the recliner which I am beginning to do too much of lately, I saw three little boys in the field across the way standing at the edge of the culvert throwing rocks at something and then gloating.  I jumped up and went to the back porch.  Sure enough, they were throwing rocks at the ducks and geese that paddle there in the water.  One of the boys, yelled, “I Hit IT!”  Well, call me the crazy old lady who runs out the house yelling at kids, but I clapped my hands together as loudly as I could and they heard me.  When they looked at me I yelled at them from across West Napoleon, “STOP IT! STOP IT NOW, or I’ll call the cops!  Would you like someone to throw rocks at you? STOP IT!”  They stopped and stared at me and I glared back at them.  Finally, they began to saunter off very slowly, one them  who kept looking back to see if I was still there (no doubt to return to throwing rocks if I were gone?) but I stayed and they left and didn’t come back.  When things the way they are nowadays, I half expected one of their parents to come hammering at my door in confrontation, but that didn’t happen, yet trust me I would have been ready for them.  Captain Duck Avenger.

Thinking about doing something proactive, but can’t decided just how yet.  The idea just occurred to me  a half an hour ago, and must be thought out.

Funny, and a question, not knowing what time zone you’re in at present, but at ten minutes to eight as I was about to pull into the parking garage here to start my day, I could suddenly taste the bitter pleasantness of an olive and the cool silken sip of a dry martini–trust me–at that hour in the morning,  the only thing I have a taste for is coffee–so, if you’re across the pond, it would have been 2PM–a martini would not have been unheard of!