First, and foremost, my father came through his outpatient surgery just fine. The one little hiccup is being addressed and all is well. (The fact that said-hiccup scared the stuffing out of me for a teensy bit is neither here nor there. Panic and I are familiar foes. These days, I know mostly when to duck… mostly.)
Now that breath has returned to my lungs, I can turn back to The Hushing Days without guilt, regret or any other “nasty” worry always leaves me.
I have managed these past two days to keep a steady drip of marginal progress going on the novel (220 hard fought-for words yesterday).
Hopefully this means that wheels will not need to be re-greased, a task both tedious and time-consuming. (Picture the Tin Man and his squeaky little oil can. With no Dorothy or Scarecrow around, I’m relying on an eager but thumbless Toto to deal with the oil can and any of my accumulated rust… a humorous but frustrating prospect, let me assure you.)
So, it’s back to work I and my thumbless muse go.
Wish us no flying monkeys!