Summer break: when time loses all meaning and the days blur together in an amorphous blob. I get up in the morning and don't know what day it is; I have things to do (probably) and I know I'll get to them (eventually), but the sense of urgency disappears as soon as the semester is over. My husband helpfully asks what time I need to get out the door, and the answer, usually, is I don't really need to be anywhere.
Except on Sundays (church). And on days when I have meetings concerning a grant proposal that's eating up a bunch of my time (and will eat up more if it's approved, not that I'm complaining). And on Wednesdays, when I get out of the house bright and early to join a group of colleagues in a room in the library where we sit silently and write all morning. The first Writing Wednesday of summer break attracted seven people, including a few newbies, and I made significant progress on my new writing project.
An article that originated in Writing Wednesdays a few years ago finally saw the light of day in the journal Pedagogy. "Ink, Blood, Bones" may well be my final foray into academic publishing, as I'm currently working on something more like a personal essay immersed in literature, or a literary analysis immersed in personal narrative. I don't quite know how long it will be or where it will end up but I'm having tons of fun writing right now.
Otherwise the days stretch before me without design. Maybe I'll mow, if weather permits. Maybe I'll clean the bathrooms or go for a hike or watch a mystery on Britbox. And if a curious groundhog comes knocking at the door while I'm doing my own thing, I'll pause for a photo shoot and then carry on.
Because that's what summer break is all about: no sense of time, no urgency, just a gentle plodding forward in the faith that eventually I'll do what needs to be done.
She's been fascinated with my house all week. Why?
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