The Writer in the Basement

I'm due for a trip to see my family in New Jersey. I haven't seen them since June. What's funny about that is until last summer, I hadn't seen them in years. Then, last summer, I went down for a weekend and have been going every 6 to 8 weeks since then. What's even funnier is I just counted the weeks and it's only been 8 weeks since I've been there. But it feels longer. Perhaps it's because I don't yet have my reservations for next time. Perhaps it's because so much has happened between then and now. Perhaps it's just because they are that much a part of my life that I miss them when we are apart. I don't know and I don't care.

What I do know is I miss the feel of the Poo's head on my shoulder when it's time for her to go to sleep and the feel of her hand on my cheek when she decides it's time for me to wake up. And the quiet times with The Grill Master, where we can speak volumes in the silence between us. And, always, always, always, the times with the Divine M. (keeping people anonymous is tough!)

Last summer, when I first started going down there, it was because I needed to jumpstart my book. So, I went down there, took over their basement and wrote. By the third or fourth time of this, we were all so comfortable with the routine that we didn't even notice if I was rude or indifferent to other people who would come by. Hell, we hardly realized when I was rude or indifferent to them. My job was to go down to the basement and write. I'll pop up to pee or grab more coffee or to ask The Grill Master a "guy" question (as in "Would a guy say it this way or is that too girly?") and descend back into the basement.

One of our favorite stories is the time I was down in the basement and they simply forgot I was down there. Apparently, they left, ran some errands and then remembered me. The actual length of time changes with the telling of the story but it was at least long enough for them to hit one store. Possibly as long as a couple hours. But, however long they were gone, they came racing home and the Divine M. came to check on me, to apologize. You see this coming, right? I didn't even know they had gone. It wasn't until the next trip she could even bring herself to tell me it had happened. They are so good at leaving me be and I had fallen far enough into my pages that... If I had written it, no one would believe it.

So I miss them, my Jersey family. The Writer in the Basement needs to take up residence again. Regardless of what the calendar says, it's been too long. That's just the way it works sometimes. Calendars and clocks may tell us days and times but only our hearts can tell us when it's passing too fast.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee (if you aren't lucky enough to have the Grill Master keep a pot going for you).