I haven’t written in such a long time. I feel guilty. I’ve been struggling with my book about turning 60. The good news is that I have an agent. I decided not to self-publish. I’ve taken a leap of faith and held out for a publisher who may see value in my musings. The bad news is that my agent thinks I need to change my title to better reflect the contents of the book. I’m open to new ideas. I hope we, the royal we, come up with something we all like.
I thought about it all weekend while I was on a tango weekend, a festival in Denver where some very good tango dancers show up and we get high on tango for 3 days over Memorial Day. It is always great fun even though some of the usual suspects didn’t show. Was it the economy, stupid, or was it that the festival is getting stale. Stale and tango do not belong in the same sentence.
Meanwhile life takes twists and turns as in my sons are no longer speaking to each other. Don’t they realize that each have only one brother in life. There are no more brothers to have in their lives. It’s such a cliche in life that brothers/sisters don’t talk to each other. It seems that siblings are harder on each other than just plain friends. They see each other are perfect in some ways, flawed in others and the good/bad characteristics are magnified tenfold. I hope in time that my sons, these once terrific friends, will mend the fences and forgive. Meanwhile, I’ve experienced intense emotional pain that I have almost lifted during the last three weeks.
My trip is coming up – to Southern Spain and Morocco. I just realized that I will be getting home July 5 at 11 pm and I have to teaching the next morning at 7 am. Boy, will I be tired. I’m using Advantage miles and I can’t change anything. I’m going to die spending 17 hours in Heathrow. Most of the time, I’ll be sleeping, but the next morning will be brutal. I knew this when I made the reservations, but I forgot – thought I was arriving on July 4th late. I’m hoping that something will happen and a seat will open up earlier to Los Angeles.
I feel naked because I don’t have a book to write. Maybe I’ll blog more. Maybe I’ll meditate more. Maybe I’ll write more poetry. Maybe I’ll actually take a yoga class. Maybe I’ll rest.