There's frost on the windows this morning. Looks like winter is doing her best to take up residence. C'est la vie. Yesterday morning I tried venturing to town but only drove 2 miles, then turned around and came home. The thought of driving on a snow and ice packed highway for the next hour didn't thrill me so I decided I really didn't need to go to town that bad. When I called to rebook my appointment I found out I had the days mixed up. That made me doubly glad to have turned around and come home. The thought of arriving at my appointment only to be told "I'm sorry your appointment is tomorrow afternoon at 1:30." made me cringe. At which point I would have pulled my hair out and cried. Or not.
So I spent some time yesterday writing some more on my book. Nearly 9,000 words now. I don't want to talk about it much but it's loosely set on an account my great aunt wrote about the family's journey from Norway to Canada. She wrote the account 40 years ago and I have a copy. I pulled it out yesterday for some inspiration. My character is veering off the planned trail quite a bit so I wanted to read and figure out some plot stuff. I have no idea how it works for other people but I write what I see in my head (oh, now that is scary). Main character goes to barn to milk the cow and I picture it in my head and dutifully write it down. Except I didn't plan for her to go around the barn and find a stray dog who was hurt, growling at her. But hey, it's not my story. I am still a little amazed I'm actually doing the writing. I've let youngest son and dearest one read the first 8 pages and last night I was telling youngest son about the what ifs to come and he said I was mean. When he read the first few pages and I asked him what he thought of the Pa in the story, he replied, "He's a dick." I knew I'd conveyed the Pa exactly how I'd envisioned him.
Dearest one brought home nearly 800 envelopes and such to do a mail out yesterday. I took on the responsibility of mailing out these thingamajigs for something I'm involved in, 4 times a year, and this week is the week to do it. 375 envelopes later I went to bed. I sat and put address labels and postage stamps on the envelopes while youngest son stuffed and sealed them. He found it boring although he talked a mile a minute while he sat there and I enjoyed that immensely. I told him I found the repetitive nature of it to be very soothing because it was predictable. I like predictable. And there isn't too much of that in this life, is there? He found it interesting that predictable to him meant boring and to me it meant soothing. Anyway, only 400 or so more envelopes to do today and then it's back to unpredictability.