Retreating into My Bubble

where my mind is a muddle

My Spotify wrapped this year is going to be wonky, because I love to listen to music while I write, but it can’t be music I know—I’ll start singing (badly) along to it and there goes any thoughts about what I was writing about.

When I was a kid, my mother told me I really needed to learn Spanish because we lived in Miami and it would be helpful to know. My father said I should learn German because so many scientific papers were written in German and clearly I should be able to read the papers in their original language—not that I ever showed any interest in becoming a scientist.

Any surprise that I took French? So I don’t speak Spanish. Of course, I don’t really speak French, either. German is way out.

Anyway, every morning when I write, I put on Spanish-language music. I like the music. Can’t understand a word of it. Nice background without being distracting. Spotify won’t know what to do with me come December.

See, Mom. Not learning Spanish paid off.¹

I’ll think of something…

about thinking of something

I’m frustrated trying to figure out the chronology of my work-in-progress. So of course I complain to the husband.

Me: I can’t think of anything. You told me I’d think of something.

The husband: Yes, but I didn’t say when.

I love him, but man, is he annoying.

about writing retreats

I had the luxury of attending a writing retreat with my amazing group of women writer friends. This is our third time going on this retreat, and it just gets better and better. We go to Highlights Foundation (yes, the same Highlights as the children’s magazine), where we each get our own cabin or room in the lodge, the most amazing meals, and lots of time to be together and lots of time write. While I’m disappointed that Goofus and Gallant weren’t supervising our table manners, I made a lot of progress on my current project and not one of my writing friends made annoying comments about my writing process (I’m looking at you, husband).

There’s something about away that just makes writing so much better. As an empty nester, I can write at home, but there’s always something nagging at me—errands that need to be done,² meals to make, dirty kitchens and desk, projects to attend to, dog that needs attention. But away, where there is nothing I need to do but show up to meals in a surrounding that’s rustic and charming and isolated, is life affirming. If I could go every month, I would.

My cabin, self-portrait in mirror, on one of the hiking trails

about protesting

Like many of you, I’m sure, I attended a Hands Off march/rally. Trekked into Boston to protest with the husband and another couple. It was cold and rainy and I was doing it without really knowing why, feeling despondent because what difference does protesting make when we have a man in the White House who doesn’t give a shit about anything we care about.

However, once I was there, I realized even if it didn’t make a difference to Tr*ump, it made a difference to me. Seeing how many people are in agreement about truth, science, equality, taking care of one another, and so on, made me feel like there’s a possibility that things could change.

Living in Massachusetts is living in a bubble, but it was so amazing to see on the news all the other rallies happening in places where there isn’t a protective cushion for the people who speak out. It feels like there’s so little we can do—make our 5 calls, volunteer, raise the next generation to be sword-toting, cyber-stalking, foul-mouthed vigilantes who will wreak havoc on Project 2025—that it was nice spending a few hours in the bubble. Plus hearing the Dropkick Murphys play was a nice bonus.

about Bailey

Do not get between that girl and her treat if you are fond of having a hand!

Until next time, make good choices.

jennifer

1. Of course that didn’t stop me from forcing my own daughter to learn Spanish.

2. Who are we kidding? Like I ever leave my house.