October 14, 2005

I can�t quite get a handle on my Muse.

I have no way of actually knowing, but from her sleeping habits, I gather she must be about my age. She is not exactly inspired in Biblical proportions. She has her �light bulb moments�, and when that occurs, I quickly run and write down what I am hearing. But most of the time�and it seems to be getting worse�I have a very difficult time hearing anything above her loud snoring.

I decided to just ignore her today, and wing it on my own.

And speaking of winging it on my own, I seem to be having more and more of an identity problem as I grow older. I mean, as a kid, I never thought of such a thing. And as a teenager, well�everybody knows what a teenager is supposed to be like, and our life is �school and fun.�

As a wife and mother, my roles were pretty well defined, although I had many outside interests. But as an aging retiree�who the heck am I?

What is so crazy, is that I still have this vague sense of something I am supposed to be doing. Even as I struggle more and more just to rise out of bed and get the blood circulating and my brain recognizing where I am and what day it is. That plus coffee, food, dressing, bed making and brushing of teeth�and oh yes, taking of meds and vitamins�this consumes most of the morning.

So what is left? The afternoon calls for chores and errands; and, oh yes, these days�an occasional nap. And of course there is Oprah. If I miss her, I record her. Even if I get disgusted with her at times, I don�t want to miss anything. And speaking of not missing anything, I have my absolutely do not want to miss radio talk show host, Dennis Prager, who I must carry around on my little pocket radio with earplug, as I do my morning �things.� He is on for three hours. If I miss him, I can go on-line and download mp3 files of the broadcast to check out at a more convenient time.

I am not much committed to any nighttime TV shows. I can take them or leave them. But by that time, my brain is tired and the mosquito netting is slowly being lowered around my thinking processes, and all I want to do is zone�and snooze.

Yeah, I am an exciting person.

Thus, the need for a muse. And if your muse is falling into the same type of living habits, when it comes to writing�you are in trou-buul!

You�ll never know how many times a day (or at least a week�) something happens, and I think, �Hmmm, I could write about that.� Like the fires all over Ventura County which started here in Simi Valley last month.

Naw, I wrote about that two years ago.

Or, the trip I took up to my oldest son�s home a couple of weeks ago for a Wedding Dinner which brought our whole family together for the first time in �years! (But that�s not really what constitutes an �entry.� Is it?

Or the movie I recently have seen; or the Yom Kippur service that our Christian church presented last week (wonderful!); or our Birthday Club�s celebration of another member�s birthday. (This one I SHOULD write about. It rivals the �Ya-Ya Sisterhood.�)

But I hesitate.

What is the old saying, �He who hesitates is�� (I forgot the last word, but I know it is NOT good.)

And then I start reasoning that it really doesn�t matter what I write about. Nobody is actually interested in my thoughts, ramblings, and mental quagmires. Why do I kid myself?

(�Scuse me, I have to go turn on the A/C. I don�t know how hot it got here yesterday, but at 6:30P.M. I checked the outside thermometer and it was 102. Today is forecasted to be as hot. Tomorrow, a twenty degree drop, and rain on Sunday.)

Oh, I could report that we have had an uninvited visitor in the middle bedroom all week. My housemate spotted it several times. It seems to be an alligator lizard about eight inches long. Housemate says it is MUCH larger than eight inches, but I have never seen one around here MUCH larger than that.

My usual trapping technique in such circumstances is to have a shoebox with lid flattened out. I pounce suddenly upon the intruder, trapping it under the shoebox, slide the lid very slowly and carefully beneath the box trapping the critter (hopefully there is an underlying flat surface), slowly turn the box upright, yell �Open the front door!� to someone, dash out the door and when, at a reasonable distance, throw the whole thing into the air, scream and run for the house.

It is a pretty fail proof technique. Except when you lose the creature inside the house, which is exactly what happened in this case. I don�t THINK it escaped the bedroom. But it either exited the same way it entered (don�t have a clue;) or one of these days, very soon, we will begin to detect a strong foul odor emanating from that room.

Then we will HAVE to find it.

Well, you see how desperately I need my Muse. When she wakes up, I will see if I can use the old �shoebox trick� on her. And if so, I will report immediately.

In the meantime, here is a picture of my immediate family the day after the wedding dinner. I am the cute blonde on the right end of the front row. (NOT!)

Text � copyright 2003 - 2008 The Homespun Philosopher

This site designed by

2008