About twenty five years ago, I made a list of life Goals. Over time, I have achieved most of them except learning to play the guitar. (That must have been a momentary whim because, for the life of me, I don't know why I ever had that desire.)
Anyway, this morning I'm watching the NBC Today Show as I drink my coffee and read the daily newspaper, and one of the people on the street is holding up a sign about her Bucket List.
This "jabbed a stick" into my consciousness over the goal I haven't achieved yet. When I retired three years ago, I intended to be a full-time writer. I kept getting sidetracked into other projects (quite willingly, I might add). I worked for over a year on a 120-page family memories-and-cookbook. Since then I've worked on short stories and memoirs, but my novel languishes.
But the thing of it is: That novel was at the top of my Bucket List!
I started the book ten years ago. There it sits in my Word Documents, all fragmented and flawed. It calls to me from time to time, "Fix me, finish me, stop avoiding me!"
Well, a New Year is approaching. Maybe this will be the year my slippery, capricious Muse will find its way back.
The end and the best ice cream of all
12 hours ago