Hummingbirds

There are four nectar feeders in my yard, and so many hummingbirds, I'm having to fill them -- all four -- every day. These little birds are fascinating to watch. I sit just inside the sliding door in the sun room with my binoculars and my Peterson's guide and watch them dart around like hellish wasps. They catfight over the juice. I've identified five varieties so far, including the elusive Broad-billed with the red beak. But I know that it isn't the wonder of my nectar that's brought them here, they're simply migrating through. As long as I keep the nectar out for them, they'll stay. But since I'm leaving for Denver tomorrow, I'm sure they'll all be gone when I return. A week is too long for a little hummingbird to hang onto the hope I'll be there each morning with my jug of juice. This morning they buzzed so close I thought I might get poked with a long bill. Then I realized I was wearing a red T-shirt and they thought I was a big flower.

I woke up this morning writing in my head. That's a good sign. It was 6:30, and the words in my mind kept repeating themselves. This happens to me often, and I sometimes am so lazy, I will just try to keep them there, memorizing them so I can write them down later when I'm more fully awake. But the truth is, I haven't had much luck with this. Invariably, I can't remember what sounded so perfect in my brain by the time I get around to sitting down to write. So, I forced myself to snap on the lamp, and with my eyes squinting against the outrage of light, I groped over to the SO's desk and grabbed some copy paper out of his printer. I went back to the lamp, laid on the bed, and wrote an article that I have no idea where to send. In the original thought, I was writing for the local newspaper. But once it was all down, I realized it was more of a "last page" kind of thing, a tongue-in-cheek look at my own personal experience with finding and using so-called health insurance, if you can call what I have by such a lofty name. It actually turned out kind of funny, I think. A bit of social commentary. Writing fiction just does not seem to interest me much anymore, so I'm planning to write down what comes to me, and this seems to be it at the moment.

So I spent the afternoon entering it in my laptop, going through a couple of drafts, and will let it rest for a bit while I'm gone to Denver. I'm having lunch with one of my writer buddies in Boulder Friday. Getting together with her has always inspired me to want to work again, and I'm hoping she might have some ideas about where I could submit this 1000-word piece. Sometimes I feel like a beginner again, not knowing if anybody cares about what I might have to say.

Also today I found my book editor on Facebook. Was really good to see her pictures and have an online conversation with her. She's interested in what I'm doing, but she's also contemplating complete retirement. All the editors I know are retiring. Suppose that's what happens to aging writers like me. I've noticed the last few writerly get-togethers I've been invited to attend have been populated with strangers. I used to feel I knew the majority of Texas writers and that they were my peers. Now the strangers at these gatherings mostly all have a lot fewer wrinkles than I do.

Ah me!

Onward ....