Ten-Finger Exercises

Neither Lion nor Lamb

March came in with mixed reviews.

THe mountains have cloaked themselves in white again, but the puffs of blue sky between short flurries made everyone happy. That's where we like to see the snow, on the mountains and not on the roads.

I have two new patients who live out of town, and it was wonderful to drive today, to get out in the crisp air and see the whitewashed countryside. I'll have to remember to ask for out of town patients on a regular basis.

I wrote about 750 words on my story this morning. I think that's about what I'll need to keep my 20,000 word committment. That part went well, although I did let myself do some revising as I went, and I think that's not optimum. It's supposed to be better to keep the critic out of the Muse's way, but it's hard to do. I don't know where I'll go with the story tomorrow, but maybe I have as much idea as I did today. That's all we need, isn't it, enough light to see where our feet are stepping, not enough to light up the ball field. Well, I hope that's the case, and that I don't run into any snowplows in the dark.

On my way back to town this afternoon I passed Pie Plant Road and Sorghum Hollow. Both those names reminded me of my grandmother, Mom. Pie plant is another name for rhubarb, and she made great rhubarb pie. Sorghum is what she always used instead of honey, and that's another story entirely. As a child, I thought it was a yucky substitute on toast, as unappealing as her homemade chili sauce was as a substitute for my loved ketchup.

What unusual foods did your grandmother try to tempt you with?