Muslims rioting here, Muslims rioting there, Muslims rioting over this, Muslims rioting over that. Oh hum. My conclusion? Muslims riot, therefore it is not a good thing to be around Muslims.
Dawn comes at a refreshing and wet 65° this morning, and my flowers are responding joyously to the end of the summer scorch by throwing out shoots and going vertical. I wish they looked that good thru the summer.
Miserable night last night, I spent two hours in confusion which end of my bod needed to be stuck into the toilette bowl. I don’t know what all that was about. I don’t think it was food poisoning because I have been feeling out-of-sorts for a couple of days. Nothing that as serious purging wouldn’t cure though, and my bod seems to be responding to the dewy morning with the same vigor as the flowers.
Today is the second to the last day of the Jewish calendar. Our holy days are confusing because they begin and end at sundown, rather than midnight. Our New Years will start at sundown on Sunday. Rosh haShannah. Literally the head of the year.
But for us, other than dressing in white and eating apples and honey, it is not party time. It begins the ten days of awe leading up to Yom Kippur, literally Day of Covering, but referred to as the day of atonement.
OK … enough of bodily functions and religion.
Anyway … 9:15 and half a cup of coffee down. This morning we will attend services, and pretty much loaf around the remainder of the day. A God-given loafing day, if you will. Traditionally, I cook on weekends, but the Friday night cook makes a one-pot meal that is consumed over the next 24 hours. Toast and juice is normally all the breakfast we will have today, and lunch is had at the synagogue, so I get away with not cooking on Saturdays.
My soul has been unquiet lately, and I cannot write when it is. Sometimes I don’t know what the burr under the saddle is. This is one of those times. When I get to a clumsy place in the novel, I set it down and allow myself to replay the scene in my head, over and over. As an actor, I know that I must stay in character, and you always ask yourself “Would this character do or say that?”. How do you take a la-de-da secondary character and make her desire to be submissive? How do you make a warrior woman sensitive and caring?
So I let them play in my head for awhile, watch the builders speed by in their battered pickups, and sip coffee