Lately my days have been filled with a mishmash of activities seemingly skipping from one to the next and back again. Most days seem to start in the kitchen with breakfast for my Husband Mitch. Usually something quick so he can head out to the river and his wind sports as quickly as possible. Not long after my 21 year old Son, Max, ambles in from his apartment, attached to our home. A separate residence with its own address and entry. Since Covid began he’s taken me up on the invitation to join us for meals and companionship. Breakfast for him is a larger affair that usually involves pancakes and meat. He’s a writer my Son, working on a series of short stories along with Content Writing and a Novel in the early stages of inception. His brain is so truly unique that I have no doubt whatever he writes will be consumed with a ravenous hunger by prolific readers like myself that are starving for innovative new stories.
I love sitting at the table with my mug of java with its pungent tendrils of steam snaking their way silently into my nostrils, half closed eyes enjoying Max’s deep rumble-y, resonating voice intonate delightful details of his most recent tale while my mate runs in and out pulling together his wing foiling gear and snatching fly by kisses.
After breakfast and cleanup, if the cards line up right, then I get to head in to my studio and begin creating the next piece of art that is dancing around my brain.
It‘s a well loved life......
