No creature is stirring, not even a mouse. All is quiet in the confines of your lonely house. The dog is curled on the hearth, the fire’s snapping orange embers doesn’t interrupt his sleep. He sighs.
The lamp casts its warm light over your work. Darkness shades the rest of the world.
Doesn’t a pickle sound good? Or maybe eggnog.
What about both? The thought of eating a pickle and drinking eggnog together is a bit off-putting. What if you eat the pickle first, let the vinegar linger for a bit until you’re ready for the creamy taste of the holiday spice?
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| Source: Barkpost |
Your dog is usually on high alert, even in sleep, but today’s romp in the snow was particularly feisty. His slumber harkens back to the hibernation of his ancestors from centuries before. He has the heart of a stallion in the body of a miniature goat that sadly has the senses of an overcooked ham.
Hmm. Clever. You type it into your notes, then read it again. Nah. Not as good as you thought. You press delete, and the curser races from right to left.
Slipping the laptop with your manuscript carefully to the floor, you creep to the kitchen. The dog doesn’t move. Good. You don’t want him to know how silly it is to make a dinner of pickles and eggnog.
You open the fridge and light bursts around you as if a train is bearing down. You find the brand-new gallon jar of pickles and the glass jug of eggnog, set them on the counter, and quietly close the fridge door. The dog sighs and licks his lips but doesn’t open his eyes.
The hum of the refrigerator is lulling.
In the murky darkness, you reach for a mug. Your elbow barely taps the jug. And yet, the tiny bump is enough to tip it into the pickle jar. In a cavalcade of slow-motion folly, both the eggnog and the pickle leap off the counter and rush headlong for the floor.
Can this be happening? They drop another inch. Is there any way to stop it? They drop a bit more. Are you fast enough to catch them? They’re nearing the vinyl floor. No, you’re not fast enough. And right before they splinter on the kitchen floor, you wonder why you had replaced the vinyl and put in carpet in the kitchen.
Smash.
The dog leaps to his feet, hovering above the ground, one ear slung over his head and the hair on his face matted.
Still a foot off the ground, he surveys the scene. When you turn on the light, he looks over shattered glass and mixture of pickle juice and eggnog seeping into the carpet and gives you the look. The look that says you’re silly. For the dinner choices. And the carpet. All of it.
Sometimes, you curb your passions because people might think you’re silly. It’s not true. They think your passion is silly. It’s not you. It’s your passion. There’s a big difference.
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| My dog, Winston |
We all do silly things. We all make confusion choices. That doesn’t mean we’re silly people or that we should stop doing them. Instead, acknowledge that drinking eggnog and eating pickles is unusual, and just do it!
So, when people wonder why you spend so much time reading and writing during the holiday season, keep in mind your silliness is okay. We love you, and the crazy things you do.
You're silly to write over the holidays. Or are you? #seriouslywrite @peterleavell #writerslife
You've been given permission to write this Christmas, no matter how silly people think you are. #seriouslywrite @peterleavell #writerslife
You crave pickles and eggnog. Who cares! How silliness ties in with writing at #seriouslywrite @peterleavell #writerslife
