The No News is No News Purgatory Thread, Volume 9

I'm back from writing group. They liked it! Tweaks and expansions suggested, but general agreement that I should/could submit this play to the theatre not in the local playwright contest but as a legitimate professional production for their consideration.

I'm pleased. It's only my second play, not counting two-pagers, and my first full-length.

Maryn, who was filled with doubt

That Tas, always the thoughtful hostess.

A jar of molasses lasts me forever. I guess I don't make any sauces which use it, since I buy bottled barbecue sauce. I do make a lovely molasses cookie, though. I like to roll them in red and green sugars at Christmas.

I finished the line-edits part of my edits already. Now on to the comments, which may be more difficult or may be nothing much, like "My, this is one long sentence" and "Was that invented yet?" It's the ones where the editor notes some fundamental flaw that kill me, i.e., "Can't we make James more likeable throughout?" So far I haven't hit one of those.

All the things I'd intended to sew for the kids for Christmas may not be happening. We shall see. The Kid needs flannel jammies, and I've got some lovely flannels, and Kid Two's elegant jammie pants are ridiculously short, more like capris, since she's so tall.

Speaking of the kids, I was quite pleased the other night. Mr. Maryn and I went out to dinner with a couple we don't know well. They asked about our kids, and I didn't have to change mental gears to say we had two adult daughters. Some day maybe I won't ever have to correct myself, not even in my own brain.

Maryn, hopeful

Back in the Paleolithic Era, when I studied journalism, I did better work under a tight deadline than when I had plenty of time.

In the end, though, I was not cut out for journalism. You have to talk to other people!

Maryn, that loner you read about in the paper

It's The Kid's birthday today, the shortest day of the year, the first day of winter. Her name? Sommer, of course.

We won't see her until late tomorrow, but I am aware, and grateful, that so far we've been able to celebrate both our daughters' birthdays on or near the date. For a lot of families, that ends with college or the first real job.

The tree is in the house. You call all come over and enjoy the smell, whether you celebrate the holiday or not. It isn't decorated or anything, just up.

Maryn, who's covered with fuzz from a sewing project

As they say in the fairy tales, Huzzah!

Mr. Maryn is officially driving me bonkers. I made a spreadsheet for all the kids' gifts, Christmas and birthday, which he divvied up so it's even in terms of how many they open at Christmas, how much we spent, and how much we spent on birthdays last go-round. All very even-handed. He printed the list.

And proceeded to wrap the wrong stuff for the occasions, the list in his little hot hand, so now he's got a necklace and no Blu-Ray, a book and no socks, etc. What was the point of making the @#$%^& lists and dividing them up if he was going to ignore them?

I love the guy, but he makes me crazy. The fact that we got a wrong number at 6:30 this morning, a caller from Australia no less, and that I couldn't get back to sleep is no doubt a factor here.

Maryn, whose blood pressure is probably up