when inspiration strikes

I never sing in the shower. Y'all know I have issues about singing. I do remember reciting the toast I wrote for Tom and Kristy's wedding over and over again in the shower, in hopes that I wouldn't have to read it from a sheet of paper. I sometimes cry in the shower, I have to admit. The water falls with my tears, but never washes away the pain, which is perhaps what I hope for. What I do really, really well in the shower is think. (What did you think I was going to say? My kids read this blog. Come on.) I'm serious, though, I do some of my best thinking in there. Sometimes I think so hard that I lose track of what I am doing. (Did I just put shampoo on my hair or was that conditioner? Crap!)

I find that I also do some good thinking when Rufus and I take walks together. The sun shines down on us, the wind blows, Rufus trots along like a champ (most of the time) and I ruminate. I start out thinking about how nice it is to see the sun shine again or when was the last time we saw that one dog who always runs down the hill, and pretty soon I've got half a blog post written in my head.

Do you see a common thread here? Yes, yes, it's when I'm alone, of course, but, also, it's when I can't get to my computer or even a pencil and paper. I'm writing and and re-writing and editing in my head without any possibility of saving my precious thoughts. I have to towel off quickly after stepping out of the shower, and hurry to my desk, with both dogs swirling around my feet, and Lucie pawing to be picked up as soon as I sit down. Or I come in from our walk, and have to make the dogs sit and lay down for their expected treats before I hurry down the hall to my room. If I'm lucky, I remember what I thought was profound or clever or urgent a few minutes earlier.

What I'm trying to say here is that I suffer for my art. This isn't as easy as it looks, folks. I hope you appreciate it.