I find it hard to concentrate or do any serious writing during this pandemic period. I can’t stop watching the news, knowing that it adds to my anxiety but I can’t seem to turn off the TV or social media. I can’t do many things that used to give me a sense of calm –
I spent a week in Tuscany at a writer’s retreat with this lovely view from my bedroom window. I arrived after a whirlwind of travel and sightseeing: hiking the Camino de Santiago trail in Spain, visiting quaint Dutch towns in the Netherlands, and exploring Renaissance art in Florence. I was scattered in thought and feeling
At the end of June, I will be retiring from the school district and I feel a mixture of sadness and elation. Sadness at leaving deeply formed relationships and wistful about the knowledge and expertise I’ve acquired over my tenure at the district. But mostly it’s elation at the prospect of a new life
I raced up to Mammoth after work, hoping to beat the heavy spring snow storm that was forecast. The roads were clear and dry all the way until north of Bishop, near Sherwin Summit. The wind whipped around our car and after Crowley Lake, thick flakes of snow blurred the view through the windshield.
I have had writer’s block for several months now. The anti-muse in me says, “Who cares about writing? This country is falling apart, who wants to read a personal essay?” I have been silenced as I follow social media constantly for the next scandal, the next outrage, ignoring my writing. This weekend, I took
