Work, work, and more work...

I've been working so hard this week, attempting to bank a couple of stories so I'll have some free time next weekend - half of my kids are heading up here to celebrate a birthday. We're planning a little cookout and probably at least one outing to the beach - depending on weather.
Oh - I should disclose that one of my stories was at a distillery and I was sipping raw rum at 10 a.m. in the morning.......it was so strong that my lips tingled all day! WHEW!

Not only will that be a special weekend, but on Thursday I'm headed to: first, a writers' workshop at the NEWS (that should be fun), and second, an art opening at the Bangor Art Museum. My friend Hazel, who is an extraordinary artist, took some pictures while on a windjammer cruise and one of them is being used in the museum. It has been reproduced in large format - 4 feet long - and shows a pod of whales swimming in a circle with lots of lot reflecting off the sea. It is beautiful! She is from UK and is so much fun that I know she'll make the evening memorable! A group of friends from central Maine will be on hand and we plan on going out to dinner afterwards. I smell an adventure!

I'll stay the night in Bangor - I learned my lesson last year trying to drive home at 10 p.m. after the American Folk Festival.
There were parts of my (2 hours) ride home that night that I don't really remember....it is so rural with no streetlights...incredibly exhausting. So I'll spend the night at the Charles Hotel (so 1920's-ish) and head back Friday morning.

I have Fri. off from work so I'll spend the day cooking and baking (red velvet mini-cupcakes and chai large cupcakes) and waiting for Russell and Taryn to arrive. They will be coming from Bayonne, New Jersey, and will be the first to arrive. Danny and Amanda and Karlin will arrive Saturday.

It sort of feels like Christmas around here, the anticipation is so thick in the air. I am unbelievably excited. We get this visit from R & T just once a year and it always seems like it is over before it begins. They are city kids - living where dinner gets delivered to the door every night, subway is the main mode of travel, ALL the women wear stillettos and ALL the men Italian leather shoes....but I know that Russ feels his roots when he is here. He's a pig farmer's son, after all, who was raised with fields and woods and a river in his backyard. He jumped from the loft of the barn, climbed the trees in the yard and raced snowmobiles through the field. He always comments on the quiet and the incredible number of stars when he is here....I miss him so and always have the sense that something is amiss in my life...like I've misplaced something, or forgotten to do something, or can't remember a key appointment.

And then I remember that it is Russ, my big laughing Russ, whose hugs are something to remember and whose humor kept our whole family going through some dark times. It is Russ that is missing. My Big Russ, BRussell sprouts, the Bus, Muscle Rack, number 77....I'll be holding my breath until Friday, and baking with my heart, not my hands.