Morning pages again today. Skipped some days: it’s allowed. I worked on text for this year’s Christmas card. How many more years will we continue this labor of love, labor of creativity? Maybe it’s time to write the book about our thirty or so annual cards, imitations of everyday things like a menu, a song-book, a college bulletin, a wanted poster, a wallet, a corporate annual report, and much more, all written to communicate what’s happened with the family during the year.
Life is full. It’s easy to prioritize your time when you have an employer expecting you to appear each day at a certain time and work until another certain time. The tasks of a person retired from that sort of employment are compelling for too many good reasons: opportunity to spend time with _______ (grandchildren, wife, children), prime time for hobbies like gardening, plus a long string of medical and other necessities and commitments. Writing is becoming a priority, it is a priority, but too often I let it give way to something else. Maybe I do need to leave the house for some hours each day to “go to work,” defining a set time as writing time. I’d get more done quicker.
Printed text of Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening to be the next poem to review. Formerly memorized ones come back pretty fast. How many will I be able to keep active simultaneously?