Well, what do you know? It’s autumn in Minnesota. The few remaining leaves are hidden under a thin frosting of snow. My neighbors are extraordinarily diligent about raking and mowing up the leaves, so last weekend the neighborhood was alive with the sound of mowers and chainsaws. I did my part toiling with a new rake in my front yard, scraping up the horse chestnuts that are so glossy and beautiful but such a mess to clean up. If you don’t remove them, they’ll sprout into new trees as I discovered last spring.
I’ve been promoted at work and that means this Saturday will be my last Saturday off until January. I’ll be working six days a week, upwards of 50 hours. (I don’t think we’re permitted to work more than 55 hours a week.) Anyway, it’s been an absolute madhouse there. Someone told me I ought to look for a different job, but the truth is that I like the frantic pace and the sequence of the work itself. Sure, I’d like to have more time at home to putter around and create but this season of life is about squirreling provisions for the future and staying physically active.
And it turns out that I really do like this line of work. I thought I did–I had a short-term job in retail a million years about but the pay was terrible then–and I was right.
I fondly think of the days gone by when I was writing every day. Will I ever get to those days again? Will my life loop back around to a familiar landscape?
Time will tell.
But in the meantime, it’s time to get to work.