Au revoir, 2013!

First autocorrect changed revoir to reboot. Then to revoke. Both interesting ideas for 2013!

Since New Year's Eve is my least favorite holiday, and since due to my thankfully waning flu I'm forced to do nothing tonight, I don't have to look back, review, choose top 10s, reboot or revoke. I just have to start packing for Paris! 

We leave January 2. Move into our apartment in the Marais. And spend two glorious days wandering the city. I love Paris in rainy empty January and cannot wait to hit our favorite fondue restaurant, cook dinners, go to museums and flea markets and bistros. Home January 12. 

So for tonight I plan to maybe cook up some spaghetti carbonara and keep on the get better track. I hope you have the last day of 2013 of your dreams!

Dreaming of my next novel

In Meredith Maran's wonderful book, Why We Write, Isabel Allende says that she always begins a new book on January 6. No matter what. I do not share her discipline, or regiment, I'm afraid. I begin when I know what I am trying to say, and when I think I know how I'm going to say it. 

It's been a matter of some frustration that my next novel fell into place months and months ago. But my reading/speaking/teaching schedule prevented me from writing even one word. Except in my head. And how the characters and plots have grown with so much time to do so! As an advocate of thoughtful, purposeful  writing (rather than that phrase I loathe of "a shitty first draft" or a "vomit draft") I have learned an important lesson these past months: trust my imagination. Let it take me to unexpected places. Don't rush to the page. 

The theme I'm working with in this one is secrets. How layered and nuanced my characters and their secrets have grown! So much deeper. So much more interesting. 

When I realized I wouldn't be able to begin in the fall, I admit to both panic and crankiness. But then I decided to embrace the delay. And that freeing decision has opened the novel up in unexpected ways. 

This morning I woke up with the first line (or a version of it), in my head. And the excitement and terror that always accompanies a blank page filled me to the point that I forgot I still feel flu-sick. 

Ahead for me is two weeks in Paris, a week home, and then a week teaching at the Eckerd Writers Conference. In there, that first line will be typed onto that blank page. And then the next. And the next...

Health Report

I made my own grilled cheese! And it was good! But when I got to the kitchen, the overwhelming smell of broccoli gone bad led me to my beautiful (unbaked) broccoli gratin for the pot luck Christmas night (not to be confused with the fabulous Christmas lunch that Gogo made and I missed due to getting IV drugs at the ER) was left behind. True, I made it in a fevered fog, but it was a thing of beauty. So I tossed it and cleaned the whole kitchen, then had to get in bed and sleep. When I woke up, I indulged in a little pity party. But then I thought of the little match girl, and tiny Tim, and Rudolph, and the brave little toaster--brave souls everyone. Me too. Ordered the Essential Pepin cookbook to reward myself and allowed many minutes of dreaming about Paris, 5 days and counting. 

And since I am no longer contagious my hubby is taking me to a matinee of American Hustle and maybe even buying me much yearned for burger before returning me to my sick bed. 

Progress!

Adventures in the ER

My husband is Canadian. Why is this important to this tale? By genetics, he is tough. He ran a marathon with appendicitis. He climbs really big mountains for fun. When Sam pierced his finger with a fork, and that fork dangled from that finger, he removed it without flinching. So when he looked at me on Christmas morning and said he was taking me to the ER, I knew I was pretty darn sick. Turns out my temperature was 103.6 and my lungs sounded "raucous". No pneumonia, thankfully. But it took five hours, IV antibiotics and fluids, before they'd send me home to 3 days of bed rest and at least 5 days of general rest. Lots of meds. Lots of Gogo's soup. Lots of hot tea and honey. Lots of sleep. No voice but my coughing is sure noisy. In six days we all leave for two weeks in Paris, so send all the healing thoughts you can my way please!

The flu! On Christmas Eve!

Twenty years ago I had pneumonia starting on Christmas Eve and an 8 month old baby. That "baby" really stepped up today when I was felled by the flu. Fever. Chills. Aches. Cough. The works. But Sam helped Gogo throw a smashing Christmas Eve Feast of the Seven Fishes, while I groaned and trembled on the sofa. Now in my own bed trembling and groaning. Maybe this is a once every couple of decades thing?

Still, it's Christmas and I love it. Annabelle figured out this year who Santa is, but she still left out cookies and milk and a note. And went to sleep surely with visions of sugarplums dancing in her head. 

Merry Christmas to you and yours. May the day be merry and bright. 

Everything Christmas

Let the madness begin! My knitting room floor is covered with presents, wrapping paper, tape, and hopefully the scissors that always go missing while I'm wrapping. 

Today: baked strata that I made the night before for Annabelle's class brunch. Carried piping hot Pyrex across icy cobblestones in heels (hey, gotta wear the cool silver booties to the party, right?) and then over chunks of icy snow into the school. All worth it to hear the class rendition of The 12 Days of Christmas. 

Back home to catch Zuzu and bring her to the vet. 

Dog fine. Bring her home. Try to convince Sam to come to faraway ballet store. No luck. So I drive there alone and spend $50 on random ballet things AB needs for Polar Express (live in RI? Come this weekend! Saturday at 2 and 6; Sunday at 2. Nathan Bishop school in Providence. Performed by Jump! dance company)

Back home. More wrapping. 

Back to school. Ice chunks on street now melted into slushy puddles. Silver boots hold up surprisingly well. School Christmas show. 

Stop at Dunkin Donuts for coffee for big kid, snack for little one. On to Polar Express rehearsal. 

Sam and I continue on to Gogo's for complicated car thing. 

Back home. Bake three dozen madeleines for Polar Express bake sale. 

Sam and I go to a holiday party where I drink champagne and eat cheese and have holiday fun. 

9PM in bed with an amazing hot toddy (recipe courtesy of Prune in NYC), latest Top Chef, and Annabelle. 

Tomorrow: repeat, sort of. 

What's It All About?

I'm blown away by this show I saw last night, a reimagining of Burt Bacharach songs arranged by Kyle Riabko (who is a genius, methinks). It was followed by the best hot toddy on the planet at Prune (and radishes with salt and butter, and braised lamb shank, and roasted broccoli, and an amazing Cote de Rhone). The only disappointment? No cast recording. 

www.nytw.org/season.asp

Oh! And Climb and Swirl cowl finally 13.5 inches. Which means finished!