lunch on a rainy Friday

Muggy; rain falls in torrential bursts.

Today I felt more positive again about my project. What after all are my choices? Can I abandon it now? Of course, I could--but it's not likely that better feelings lie on the far side of that decision. Rather, there would come the day when I look through my book and think, "Gee, this was pretty good. I should finish it." Then I'd press on again, only with 3 more years on my odometer. Might as well get on with it.

After my morning notes (Rubicon, Origins of Scientific Thought), I got back to chapter 17. My astronomer's assistant character, Lynceus, comes to the door, and soon I have a character on my hands. As I grope for ways for him to express himself, I suddenly think of whom to model him after, and suddenly he comes to life--forcefully, like a horse willfully going his own way. I'm happy for a character to show up like this, but he's supposed to be a minor character, and this guy is now bucking for more page and story real estate. Hm, maybe I should make him into Sosigenes. Or...? I'm not used to being pushed around by characters--it's partly fun, partly upsetting. It's great to have someone who comes across as a human being, but it's inconvenient to have to rearrange my work to accommodate him.

I got 3 pages written. I was a little pressed for time (which makes me more productive) because I had a lunch date with my stepdaughter Robin. I picked her up just after noon and drove us out through heavy monsoon-style rain to Deep Cove, so we could eat at Honey's Donuts (her choice--she'd never been). The little place was bustling; people still sat on the sidewalk under the awning with rain splattering down nearby, holding out crumbs for little wet sparrows.

Robin and I had to climb on wooden stools at the counter set against the front window. I had a chicken-salad sandwich with today's cream-corn soup; Robin had tuna salad.

"Kimmie told me that you were nervous about having lunch with me," I said.

"Well, she said that you wanted to talk to me," said Robin with a smile, "so..."

"But didn't I originally invite you out to lunch before you told us Trev was moving out?'

"Yes, exactly, that's what I said."

"Well," I said, "I can't tell you what to do, how to run your life, what decisions to make. It's not my role anymore, if it ever was. But I do want to be able to say what I think and feel."

"Sure."

"I think it's a good thing that you're moving back."

Why did I think that? Because I felt that it would give Robin a chance to move closer to her goals: getting out of debt, getting a job she likes, and planning to buy a place of her own, which is important to her.

"If you're going to be with someone, it's important that they have the same goals as you. Otherwise, it's just not going to work. I don't think Trevor has the same goals you do."

Robin took it in, listening. We moved on to other things. I didn't want to say too much--just express my views. It was friendly and easygoing--nothing to be nervous about, I hope.

We dropped in on Mom on the way back, since Robin has not seen the house since it was renovated last year. It's a beautiful place, with rain dripping from the leaves of the old apple tree and ripples moving diagonally across the deep murky green of the cove. We chatted in the livingroom by the big picture-window, appreciating the absence of traffic noise. Talked about my blog a bit (have just sent the link to Robin now). Mom had duly checked out the Grumpy Old Bookman, who was good enough to mention my blog in today's post.

Then we left.