Well the wallows are over. The Essential Herbal and her editor/publisher are back on terra firma.
I didn't go willingly at first, being quite firmly entrenched.
Things were starting to pile up, and that's never a good thing. Lately anything more than 8 hours of down-time is way too much.
Maryanne, my friend Roe and I joked around about making tin-foil hats to ward off the obvious effects of the recent solar activity. It was the idea of wearing them in public that hit my funny-bone. If they didn't keep the death-rays away, at least we would have been left to go about our business(es) in relative peace, since almost nobody will attempt to talk to a middle-aged woman wearing a tin-foil hat.
On then, to an evening of soapmaking. Down at the soap shed, Maryanne's been busy with lots of wholesale orders. This is usually a so-so time of the year, so we've had to kick it in to high gear to keep even the slower sellers in stock. Our preferred number of batches per session is 6, but 8 has been more normal lately.
We always laugh and kid around while we cover the counter space with molds filled with luscious, fragrant soap.
When I got home, I tackled the pile of orders from the previous 24 hours and got them packaged up and ready to go. As I worked, the realization that the new book is a BIG hit finally registered. It ain't the NYT best seller list, but it is great for a self-published book. Stacking the filled envelopes was a pretty pleasant activity.
This morning the computer gave me the evil eye. That tells me that it is time for a vacation soon. Usually I look forward to signing on, so when it doesn't feel friendly I know it is me - not the computer (or the people on the other side).
Fortunately, the soaps made last night now needed to be cut and stacked on their racks. Looking at the almost well-stocked shelves was a good feeling.
Then it was out to the garden! The air hadn't gotten too thick with the coming heat and humidity, so it was pleasant picking St Johns wort blossoms and picking the budding tips from the holy basil. Bunnies and birds watched while I found myself humming as I worked, brushing the leaves with my hand to release the fragrances.
By the time I got home from the post office this afternoon, it was clear that the dark cloud had finally passed.
Who knows what really did the trick? Was it picking up the phone to commiserate with a friend? Creating with my sister? Singing to my plants? Or even the herbs that usually smooth the rough edges? Maybe it was starting a journal to tell my sick loved one the things I can't say to him right now.
Maybe it was all of those things, but next time I won't wait so long to do any of them.