In the Howth Yacht Club’s pub, we stood with arms crossed, holding hands, as an elderly man with a wonderful tenor sang a ballad to wish us safe travel. At five o’clock Wednesday morning, I hung out my window at the King Sitric to send a new friend on her way to the States. Three hours later, it was my turn for hugs at the airport and the journey home. Reality hits quickly–security, customs, the ubiquitous airplane chicken meal, turbulence and a long lay over. Sitting in JFK, looking like a traveling business person, no one would suspect that a deep thinking woman in black was actually weighing what to name refugees trapped in a future Paris society.
So what did Thursday in the Midwest bring? After unpacking the computer and reconnecting technology, there were bills to pay, appointments to schedule, book-related calls to make. The annual writing work plan has been pieced together and starts on Monday. Harvesting Ashwood ”Ëœs June launch has its own plan, the last Ashwood book needs a block of time for revisions, a handful of short stories should be submitted. This is writing life.
Already miss the intimacy of the work group in Ireland, but am excited about being in my own home, listening to music, talking with the dog, and the comfort of my husband’s voice coming from his office downstairs.