This afternoon we packed up a bunch of things -- a bicycle and related parts and tools, a lot of kitchen stuff, some odds and ends -- and took them over to St. Vinnie's. That is probably our last trip there until much closer to our move. On Monday when I go to the library to do my NaNoWriMo work, I plan to take over the last forty or fifty bags of books to donate to the book sale. It will make things look pretty bare, but right now things look cluttered, with plastic bags filled with books sitting on shelves and the floor. Bare will be an improvement. And so the process continues.
I went to Starbucks after the Vinnie run and wrote for about an hour. I got there about 2:20 and ten minutes later crowds of people came in. Not sure where they came from, but most of them just ordered coffee and left. It was kind of weird, though, as if a bus had pulled up out front and dumped its passengers.
I didn't have a lot of energy for writing, but I managed to fill in a gap in the story and get the word count up to 41,745. The word-of-the-day is inconnu, essentially a French word meaning a person who is unknown, a stranger. My boy with wings certainly falls into that category, but at the moment I cannot conceive of any of the characters using such a word to describe him. So I'm going to let that one ride for a while.
Bits from today for your reading enjoyment or perplexity:
Katie looked up.
“I wonder what it would be like to fly,” she said. “It would be so cool. Don’t you think?”
“I certainly do,” I admitted, “but I guess we will never know. Maybe someday when you are older, though, we can go hang gliding. That’s probably the closest we will ever get.”“Could we? Really? For my birthday maybe?”“Okay, but maybe not this next birthday. Maybe for a special one, like when you are sixteen. Or eighteen. Or twenty-one. Twenty-one sounds good.”She frowned.“That’s forever off! I bet if I was a boy, you’d take me when I was twelve.”She stormed out. She was probably right. I was still not sure what a little girl could do and not get broken.That night at dinner I tried to make peace over meatloaf and sweet potato fries.“Did you ask Angelo to come to Bible school?” I asked. I wasn’t just being conciliatory. I was interested in what would happen.“I did. I explained what it was and how we sang songs and heard stories about Jesus and made stuff. I’m not sure he understood all that,” she admitted.“Do you think he’ll come?”“I don’t know. I asked him but he didn’t nod yes or anything. On the other hand, he didn’t shake his head no. He does that, you know. He can nod his head yes or shake it no.”“So he doesn’t talk,” I pointed out, “but he does use a sort of sign language.”“A little bit, I guess,” she said.