Last night we went to Farmington, had a lovely dinner of steamed mussels at The Granary and then went to a concert in Nordica Auditorium. Ruth Hill was the performer. She played a medley of songs on her guitar, ones she had written and a few written by other guitarists. Alternating between fast-paced, almost country songs and slow ballads and blues, I found myself lost in the music. Swirled around in the rhythm, I'd fade out on the lyrics and let the music take me off to another time and space. The evening passed swiftly and I was surprised to find it was nine-thirty when the concert ended.
Today has been a similar day as I have spent much of the afternoon working on my new novel. Set in Mexico, I come up for air to look up some fact and am surprised to see the soft snow filtering down outside my window. I have been completely absorbed in the writing, unaware of my surroundings for hours. And it is glorious. Only when my feet get cold, do I remember to get up from my desk and go downstairs to put wood in the stoves, take a stretch, use the bathroom, drink another glass of seltzer water.
In the back of my head, I feel like there are other things I should be doing today, but really, there's not. Sundays are my one day to research and write for the entire day and so, I give my husband a quick kiss and then head back to work.
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