on a roll

The weekend already! How time flies, even out here.

Yesterday was a relative flurry of activity. I was invited to a local Good Friday ritual in which the townspeople, on foot, carry a wooden cross from one church to another, reading passages and singing hymns. It was both lovely and a little bit sad; the early morning air finally felt warmer and the robins and flickers (this town is full of them) contributed their voices in droves, but every few minutes we were deafened by the revving engine of a huge truck with an ATV in the back, or someone's barking dog. At the end of the service, the worshipers warmly introduced themselves and invited me for tea, but I was itching to get back to my desk and made my exit.

For the rest of the day, I was "on a roll." I've learned that when you get in the groove, it's best not to get out of it, no matter what. I barely left my desk until the late afternoon, when I heard voices in the back yard. The lady in charge of the Stegner House and her husband were piling sandbags against the back of the house, "just in case." (The water in the creek behind the house hadn't hardly risen since our arrival, but everyone in town wants to be prepared, regardless.)

Over veal parmesan and dry ribs at Jack's Café, we swapped stories and compared notes. We may lead different lives, but some things are universal, especially among old married couples. Although forty years our senior, they still knew how to have a good time, reminding me of what we might be like in a few decades.

Walking home under the millions of stars, I thought: this town sure knows how to make a writer feel welcome.