Shoes in the Freezer

Virginia Heinein used to say that she knew when her husband, Robert, was "coming down with a story" when she found his running shoes in the freezer. Before I really wrote seriously, I used to wonder how on earth someone as seemingly organized and a straight line thinker as Heinlein could do something so strange.

Well, now I know. For years, I've prided myself on being an all there, organized and in touch with what I need to be in touch with kind of person. But in the last few years, as the writing has become more important and as it's been more successful, I've been "fading". The last book, Street Kid, Subway Cat, I realized I spent more time in that world than I did in my own, even when I wasn't actually at the computer, writing. A large part of my mind was taken up with the creative process (sounds so much better than 'out to lunch' or 'daydreaming' or 'blonde'). But in the last few days, I've started writing the new book - Mother Alexandra.

In fact, I started Tuesday. Tuesday? Monday. Wait.

(pause while I go & check my calendar.)

Yep. Tuesday. I had three appointments on that day. One of which has been a regular appointment for over 10 years - a friend and I meet for coffee every Tuesday afternoon. I blew my son's dentist appointment, coffee with a friend (twice) and completely forgot that my Tuesday afternoon coffee visit with Deb was supposed to happen. And forgot I was supposed to go shopping with my daugher, and forgot my godson to be was coming over that evening for a visit. I've been known to forget appointments, I'm not perfect - but I don't think I've ever in my life forgotten all my appointments on one day.

And then today, I decided to have spaghetti for supper. (I did remember my phone appointment with my editor, Jane.) But we had no tomato sauce and were low on milk. So I went to the store to get milk and tomato sauce. Got to the store, got the milk, thought, gee, it'd be nice to have mushrooms in the sauce, too, so picked some up. Paid for them, got in the door at home and realized I'd forgotten the sauce. So, okay, we'll have tacos. But we have no shells, or tomatoes. And I'm not going to the store again, to risk buying chocolate cake and celery but forgetting the whatever it is I came up for. And have all the staff laughing at me. I know they would. They know me.

So I'll call Reclusive Luddite at work and he can pick up tomatoes on his way home. (You can see where this is going, can't you? Sigh) No problem, he'll do it.

Two hours later, I finally realize that if he's picking up tomatoes, why can't he pick up the shells too? He was very kind. He didn't laugh at me, he didn't suggest I need a keeper (even though I obviously do!) and he didn't suggest I was blonde. (I'm actually light brown with grey. But the mental processes are definitely blonde.)

If anybody's interested in coming over and making sure I don't put my running shoes in the freezer, I'm sure my family would be very grateful. So would I!