I wish I had a picture of the place where I had the good fortune of spending 44 hours last week, but the owner who lent me her studio would probably prefer I didn't do that anyway. Let's just say it was in the woods, near a big body of ocean-y water, and very, very cozy. I did not get off my butt except to take one 1-hour walk. I slept on a Therma-rest pad. In a sleeping bag. I ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cold cereal, apricots, a few pieces of chocolate. Except for the cost of the room ($25 a night) and the ferry to and from Seattle ($34), I did not spend a penny. I wrote drafts of five new poems and whittled down my ms. to 50 pages (there was flab that needed to be cut). And yes, I think I now have the 3rd section in the right order.
I got back to town and went straight to Pho Bac for a big bowl of beef noodle soup with my hubby and kids. In the space of a few minutes, my transition back to the life I live--papers, lists, appointments, disgruntled students, lines, money, pick ups and drop offs, a kid with school-play anxiety, a kid who insists on wearing 11 shirts and 5 pairs of pants/shorts, mounds of laundry, dust, crumbs, downright dirt, owies to be kissed, a filthy microwave, and a bunch of dying plants--was complete. But I have the poems to prove I was there.