Incubation

I have not been very productive this weekend. Spent most of my time reading and thinking while the washer and dryer worked on three loads of laundry.

I finished May Sarton's journal, After the Stroke, and moved on, incongruently, to Ivan Brunetti's Cartooning: Philosophy and Practice.

I read the entire book in about 90 minutes. I did not do any of the exercises.

But I drew a squirrel.

Then I browsed Lynda Barry's blog.

And Austin Kleon's blog.

And Keri Smith's blog.

And somewhere along the way I stumbled into Meg Hitchcock's blog and read her entire archives.

I've been kinda lazy, but not entirely slothful. Somewhat lacking in structure and direction, but open to whatever presented itself.

I took out the trash, pulled weeds, had a nap and made a nice dinner for two. We dined al fresco this evening on the back patio, enjoying a leisurely meal in warmish weather amongst happy green growing things.

We are making steady progress on the old homestead and find it quite satisfying to survey the results of our labors. Recently, Mr. Last erected the first half of a redwood trellis for the berry patch. He also got another stretch of concrete footings poured for the next section of The Wohl. I removed the last of the old vine on the park arbor and planted fresh pink jasmine in its place. The roses are beginning to bloom. Sounds beautiful but it's not quite there just yet. Definitely developing, but in its pre-beautiful state right now.

When I feel kind of unfocused like I have this weekend, I avoid beating myself up about it and think of it as incubation. Wandering and gathering and doing undemanding random tasks. Waiting for something to show up but not entirely sure what's around the corner. No real anticipation, just gentle curiosity. Sometimes it is nice to just go easy. To sit in your nest and fluff up your feathers and keep the eggs warm. Incubate.

via Wikipedia