Same old, same old

Every time I endeavor to post, I end up saying the same things. The weather's cold, marriage is great, writing has been slow. So what?

Life has been so wonderful; I realized this as I was writing my husband's Valentine card today. I couldn't imagine being happier, and there's nothing more that I want. Perhaps I am where Harriet Vane was in "Thrones, Dominations:" when life is in the midst of despair (or at least frustration, or tiredness, or angst) then writing seems to come so naturally. Deep thoughts are quick to spring to the mind; and we rarely sound more eloquent than when we are complaining. But when it comes to writing about happiness, somehow we sound trite, fake; as though the way we are living now could not possibly represent "reality."

But my reality is glorious. I am tired, and keeping house takes more time than I thought possible; but I crawl into bed at night with my husband and we stay up for hours talking about everything--politics, religion, where we want to plant flowers in the yard. And we watch Alfred Hitchcock and Sherlock Holmes and are silly together.

I am content for my deep thoughts to take a hit; and who knows, perhaps one of these days I'll actually figure out how to write a story that ends happily!