nThis week’s writing prompt fall under what I do when I’m not writing.
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nHarry Chapin would be disappointed in me. Like the father in his song “Cats in the Cradle,” I focus on my work. Billy Ray Cyrus knows the sentiment well: listen to his song “Busy Man.”
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nWhen I’m not writing, I’m … writing. Paid gigs, that is. My “day job” is freelance writing and editing. Lately, writing gigs bring home the bacon, although I’m not so good a frying it up in a pan. I’m not a bad cook, but I’d never be selected to compete on Master Chef either. And that’s just fine with me.
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nLately, I’ve been attempting–and mainly failing in the attempt–to do things that don’t require me to sit in front of a computer. Watching television when my brain has turned to applesauce doesn’t count.
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nFor our anniversary–30 years as of June 25–my husband enrolled me in a pottery course: six week of playing with clay. Being an all-or-nothing type of person, I jumped right to the pottery wheel. It ain’t easy, folks. Those potters you see at craft fairs and on TV make it look easy, but there’s a good bit of skill to throwing pots/mugs/bowls/pitchers/vases/etc. that isn’t obvious until you actually try to do it. I suppose that’s true regardless of what craft you attempt to learn.
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nI once heard that in order to learn what to do, watch the worst person at that particular activity. Then don’t do what that person does. Sounds simple, doesn’t it?
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nAnyway, thus far I’ve managed to throw one small bowl, two large bowls, and one mug. I hope that one of the large bowls will be glazed and ready to go by the Springfield Book Fair, because I think it would make an interesting door prize. Whether anyone would care to win my amateur effort at pottery begs the question.
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nAnother attempt to occupy myself with non-computer activity when I’m not writing is riding. Say that fast a few times and try to distinguish between the two verbs. In English. Last week I brought home WMS Madline Lucille, otherwise known as “Diva.” She replaces the lovely Lady Anastasia as my trail mount. Yes, she’s a Morgan.
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nWhen I called the farrier to reschedule our missed appointment, I told him that I’d purchased a new horse. “I wanted to find something younger than Stasia,” I explained. He laughed and replied, “That’s not hard.”
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nWell, no, that’s not hard. At 33 years old, Stasia is ancient. I like to stay she’s living on borrowed time and she’s borrowing it from me.
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nAnyway, Diva and I will take our first ride without the trainer in attendance tomorrow. We’re headed to Buck Creek State Park. Y’all are welcome to come watch the circus and then don’t do what I do. You’ll be an expert in no time.
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