If I were in the Netherlands right now, as I thought I might be this weekend, I would be driving my rental car back to Brussels from a venue known as Megaland in the Netherlands. It's right next to Aachen, the first portal into Germany for the US Army in 1945. My ears would be ringing from a Bruce Springsteen show almost four hours in length. The euphoria would linger.
The boys are of an age where luring all three home at one time requires a special reason — Christmas, Thanksgiving, Mother's Day. The BBQ is supposed to start at 2 but they know we're not going anywhere, so they will arrive with fiancées and girlfriends and gifts and dogs whenever they feel like it.
I hit my deadline. There is no pretending it was easy. Perhaps you missed last week's blog post — the one that never occurred. . . . No matter your business, hitting a deadline means hyperfocus and sacrifice. And it's not just working fast. It has to be the best, which means not just writing, but editing (and more editing), and research (and still more research). But now it's done. . . .
My Achilles Heel is that I never knew what I wanted to do for a living until I was almost thirty. I came to writing late. So when I am in the presence of two people like yesterday's bride and groom I feel deficient. These were individuals who knew what they wanted to do even before they began high school, let alone college. . . .
It's been a week. Let's start backward. I was thinking this morning about the Resurrection, in particular about that first breath. The first breath. Whether you believe it happened or not, the world has not been the same since. I'm a little off my axis these days, overwhelmed with this and that, trying to keep all the balls in the air.
