Nothing Much, But Everything

I am having a day off (more or less; I have three hours of dance rehearsal tonight). I mused when at Peets today that the cherry tree out in front seems to be the last to bloom on Pacific Avenue; it is filled with blossoms, while the others are now coming into spring leaf.

It's a day that doesn't know if it's going to rain or shine; I carry an umbrella, but then the sun shines. I'm proud to say that I was up until two last night working on The Strega's Story and now am heading into the most difficult chapter of all, the death of my grandmother. In some ways, my grandmother Mary would be considered by some to be a "marginal" person, employed as the manager of a gift shop, living in a tiny apartment on Orion Avenue in the San Fernando Valley, a woman who died from what started as cervical cancer. Yet it's the writer's task to illumine what was extraordinary about such an ordinary life--I'm learning that I don't have to create extraordinary characters, that there are universes in people that can be tapped.

So, I am off to a long afternoon of errands, dashing around under my umbrella, and then to a long night of dance...and after that, more writing, I hope. Today is one of those days where it seems everything and nothing happens.