Returning to California summer after eight days of tropical greenery and wide open beaches of Kauai shocks the body into reality. Temps reached 100 here today. It seems hotter than the humid 85 in Kauai. I long to plunge into the ocean. I’d settle for a pool which gives me second thoughts about the burial of our pool a few years ago.
The sunrise alarm of Kauai’s colorful roosters is replaced with these turkey youngsters outside my bedroom window calling for their mom. They spent the morning with cries of abandonment. Maybe mama turkey couldn’t take it anymore. Maybe she needed a morning off. Late morning we heard her call, far off down the hillside. I watched the young ones mindfully waddle down the driveway.
So why did I include “20 Minutes” in my title? Because the last four weeks I committed to the exercise of writing 20 minutes a day. Everyday but Sunday. I managed to do this in spite of an eight day vacation proving to myself that I can find 20 minutes out of 24 hours. Not always easy, and sometimes writing into the late hours, but the course is complete. I thank my instructor, Len, from Story Circle Network for offering this class. Len offers a binder full of lessons, generous feedback and gentle reminders. If you need inspiration, go there. Check it out. You won’t be disappointed.
I can’t promise 20 Minutes a day posted here. My priority is to finish the first draft of my memoir before Labor Day. But, you can be sure I will be writing 20 minutes a day somewhere.
I think I hear the turkeys calling. Later.
3 thoughts on “20 Minutes and Turkeys”
Thanks for your endorsement, Margie. Loved having you in my class. The suggestion in your post of your neighborhood mama turkey needing a little time off from her chicks made me smile.
Update… mama was missing in action all day today
I have always enjoyed uncaged turkeys; something about the appeals to me, so I also enjoyed your description of the babies and their missing mother. You must have tremendous self discipline to write 20 minutes a day, even on vacation. That’s admirable, and, I fear, for me impossible.