I’ve noticed an interesting thing lately. With all of this recreating of our family’s life, figuring out how it’s all going to work during and after the move, envisioning ways to do it all, I have no desire to write. Oh, there are a few stories on the back burner, but I wake up thinking about moving, not writing.
And it’s not just the fact that I’m busy. It’s the creative urge redirected, I think. Real life is the canvas for now. I’m creating with real people and real objects, and that takes all the pent up creative energy that I was directing into books and stories. Sure, we’re always “writing” our own lives. But there are times (like now, for instance) when a person’s life story kind of hits an exciting part, a critical part, a part that keeps you turning the pages late into the night.
Silas had a second phone interview with Fresno Pacific, and now we’re waiting again. Another week at school has passed. Yesterday we had a meeting of the five special education teachers in classrooms like mine. Three of them were sobbing at the beginning of the meeting (and no, I was not one of those). One was displaying a series of horrible black and blue bite marks up and down her arm. It’s a hard job.
And we’re about to own that house in California. It sounds like May 10 might be the closing date. The house was built in 1924. You wonder what all has happened around it, who has lived in it, what sort of stories it holds. Soon it will hold our story, whatever that is going to be.