Dr. Sweetie gave me the 'I told you so' look today. I had let her know that I hadn't posted on this blog in a month and haven't even started reading my next 'Year Of. . .' book (Peter Mayle's A Year In Provence is officially next on the list).
"Big shocker," she said. Or something thereabouts. In my defense I said I'd been focussing on writing poetry in the time I have when Bubba naps, so the blog had fallen by the wayside. "Well, that will surely get you published quickly," she replied.
So now I'm back to prove Dr. Sweetie wrong--or to prove to myself that I can keep this up. I have to admit that I've never been good at keeping journals or diaries, except during a soul-searching time in college, so I will have to set an egg timer on my desk and write for 22 minutes a night, or some other perfectly artificial method for setting pixels into words.
So. Ideas for Peter Mayle, who I had glanced at back in October, but then had to return to the public library. He goes to Provence for a year, fixes up a leaky old house, meets with locals, eats and drinks a lot, and writes--at least that is the general gist I got from reading the back cover and glancing through the first few pages. Perhaps here in Rochester, I could write about all the locals I have met, spend a week trying local delicacies (we're close enough to Buffalo to make Buffalo wings a local specialty!), or learn the language--well, that one shouldn't be too hard. Maybe there is a French restaurant I can eat at. There's local wine to sample for sure, but perhaps the task should be to get to know something that defines Rochester this month. Something besides the stagnant post-industrial, post-Kodak economy.
And maybe by the end of this month (OK, I have to define "month" as the end of November sometime into December), I will be able to give back to Dr. Sweetie her 'I told you so' look.