Over night, the lovely weather disappeared and was replaced by another snow storm that was supposed to be rain. No walking today but the shoveling was exercise enough.
Once the driveway was cleared with the help of the neighbors, I could get the car out. I had to go vote. At 2:00 pm I was the 67th voter. Not a big turnout because it was a primary for a Wisconsin supreme court justice. In fact, the primary was important because just like the United States Supreme Court, our state court has a 4-5 split with conservatives in charge. This election could change. My vote is important. But even if it weren't, I would still be at city hall to hand in that ballot. I've only missed five votes in my life. It is a duty, a right, a privilege. I can never understand why people don't vote even on a snow day.
That done, I went to the library to pick up a collection of Eudora Welty short stories. I try to read several short stories a week for inspiration. I just finished two books by Junot Diaz. Fascinating stories about life in the Dominican Republic and the slums of New York City, but not my style. Next comes Welty.
Back home, my mail carrier was coming down the street. Patti bought Black Coffee Fiction. She reported she liked all the stories, but particularly "The Sandbar". I've been hearing that from some readers, but others think it's terrible. I like that. A story that doesn't bother anyone is probably not worth writing.
Once home, I took inventory of my little indoor garden. The herbs and tomato seedlings have sprouted. In a week, I'll have to thin them out. On the bay window ledge in the living room, the tulips are beginning to bloom, joining the daffodils.
Once the driveway was cleared with the help of the neighbors, I could get the car out. I had to go vote. At 2:00 pm I was the 67th voter. Not a big turnout because it was a primary for a Wisconsin supreme court justice. In fact, the primary was important because just like the United States Supreme Court, our state court has a 4-5 split with conservatives in charge. This election could change. My vote is important. But even if it weren't, I would still be at city hall to hand in that ballot. I've only missed five votes in my life. It is a duty, a right, a privilege. I can never understand why people don't vote even on a snow day.
That done, I went to the library to pick up a collection of Eudora Welty short stories. I try to read several short stories a week for inspiration. I just finished two books by Junot Diaz. Fascinating stories about life in the Dominican Republic and the slums of New York City, but not my style. Next comes Welty.
Back home, my mail carrier was coming down the street. Patti bought Black Coffee Fiction. She reported she liked all the stories, but particularly "The Sandbar". I've been hearing that from some readers, but others think it's terrible. I like that. A story that doesn't bother anyone is probably not worth writing.
Once home, I took inventory of my little indoor garden. The herbs and tomato seedlings have sprouted. In a week, I'll have to thin them out. On the bay window ledge in the living room, the tulips are beginning to bloom, joining the daffodils.
When I look out at the winter snow, I see spring, too. Twenty-eight more days to go.
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