What is it about writing?

I have lots to say. I have nothing to say. I can put out 6000 words a week on The End Time about the end time, and more words on Facebook, but why have I been stuck lately on The Quiet Life? Maybe because I wrote 12,000 words a month for nearly six years running a newspaper, plus the Editorial, and I just got tired of having to have an opinion on everything from the proposed sewer line to graffiti at the schools to the reunion of the lost dog and his family... Or maybe it's because I write 10,000 words on my weekly Christian newsletter to subscribers, full of news and encouragement and biblical interpretation, and I get tired. Or maybe it's that I chose to have a quiet, private life after being a famous and infamous firebrand person in my previous phase of life in Maine, and now I like bland. [Pleasant in manner; smooth: a bland smile. b. Not irritating; soothing] Bland has a lot going for it. I don't have to be witty, and I don't have to hold up my end of the conversation. I don't have to dazzle anyone with my intellect and I don't have to "stay fresh". I can just talk about soup.

This week I made corn chowder which is currently my new favorite soup. It is so easy to make and filling, tasty, and is fun to say down south. "Chowdah" never fails to amuse y'all.

I'm planning a day out with a friend on Monday, school break. Winter break actually, but I find that totally amusing because today was 72 degrees and I had the windows open all day and had to refill the bird feeder so many chirpers came to visit. But nevertheless, its accurate title is Winter Break and I have Monday and Tuesday off. So into Athens we will go, to lunch, shop, and watch a movie. It's good to occasionally do the lady thing to remind myself that indeed, I am a lady. A Lady Who Lunches. I am all for seeing The King's Speech. The New England gal is still there, loving a good British Period Piece now and again since Masterpiece Theater isn't what it used to be.

The dogwoods are about to bloom. In every romantic movie when the happy ending comes and the man and the woman hug and suddenly a gentle breeze blows blossoms all over them and the blossoms swirl in the air and the camera swoops upward to eventually display the credits...that is spring in Georgia, and the petals are dogwood.

Tomorrow is church. I belong to a good church and we sing and we love and we learn. It's good. I've been asked to lead a small group faith group once per month on Sunday evenings and though I am a very good teacher of children I am less confident about teaching adults. Not because of my skill level. Because of my patience. Children are so much easier to be patient with than grownups. 

I hope the figs come this year. Two years ago I got a bumper crop that lasted months. Last year I got 24. Yes, I counted them.
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