Eeny, Meeny, Miney, Moe . . .

I began writing a novel last Sunday. I have known for awhile that I wanted to write southern fiction, but I had not yet decided upon a plot or characters, two slightly important details to consider when writing a novel. Micah woke me early Sunday morning (even though that is quite late for him), but my brain wasn't the fog it usually is at 6:00 am. The creative neurons were in overdrive, much like Micah's suction. And there, as I nursed my apparently ravenous son, I was given my idea like rain to a seed. I began writing that morning,but I knew my idea would require a good bit of work in the way of interviews, so I began scheduling them as quickly as I could. I have four lined up for this week!

Yesterday during interview number one, I discovered something that could be described at once as interesting, disturbing, problematic, money-savvy, and extremely confusing. I have my choice of not two, but three burial sites, bought and paid for. That's right. Three different people have located and purchased a place for me to be laid to rest. Until yesterday, I have considered my death only as hypothetical and honestly, in tandem with my husband's. For example, if Brandon and I were to bite the dust, who should raise our child? Yesterday, I was forced to face the fact that even if I were to live to be one hundred years old, 25% of life has passed me by. At best, my life represents my 3/4 measuring cup, and that visual is not so encouraging. Furthermore, to assume one as puny as I will live to be 100 is humorously presumptuous. I mean, it's quite possible that I will happen upon a doughnut-throwing contest, open-mouthed, and meet a glutenous doom well before my time. In that case, what should I do about these three probably costly burial plots which come with all but a tombstone with my name on it? Do you see my dilemma?

Anyway, I'm thinking I should probably start deciding. I could "meet" my prospective neighbors, get a feel for the atmosphere and observe lawn care and maintenance. Maybe dad will take me. He's the only person I can think of who enjoys touring cemeteries in the sweltering summer heat.

I have my work cut out for me between taking care of Micah, keeping house, teaching music lessons, writing a novel and deciding where I should decay.