It’s not a writer’s life. . .but then it is

So I’ve been insanely, exhaustingly busy this week, and aside from a ton of e-mails, I haven’t gotten much writing done. So what’s been keeping me from my sessions with the Muse?

I submit to you, dear readers, photographic evidence of my week:

Last Saturday, my youngest, hip, drinking buddy aunt (who lost over 80 lbs in the last year or so), walked the Cooper River Bridge Run and Walk for the first time. No, this isn’t a picture of her – I was squeeing and waving around a “Team Linda – You GO GIRL!” sign when she went by. However, I DID see almost all 42,000 people pass by our spot in front of the Francis Marion Hotel.

On the way there, in the wee hours before dawn, I saw this graffiti and had to take a picture.

I posted it on Facebook, and I had friends say they thought it was a statement on homelessness. Another said that it was the name of a local band. When I took it, though, it felt more like a statement about Charleston – that this remarkably beautiful city IS home. At least, that’s why I took the picture. Or, a more amusing thought was that the people who lived in the apartment above this sidewalk regularly stumbled home drunk, and needed confirmation of where they should go.

Sunday: My Daddy, who has been married to my Mom since April 1954 (yes, children, that translates to 57 years this coming week), finally decided he could be apart from her no longer and drove down from NC. He brought with him my repaired lawn tractor and my mom’s Cadillac of wheelie walkers. We already had the wheelchair for her. Honey couldn’t resist snapping a picture of the three of us in our unconventional yard seats.

My mother would KILL ME if she knew I put a picture of her in shorts and knee high socks on the internet. SHHhhhh. . . .

Monday – Friday: I work from home. This is my messy desk in my still un-finished office.

Yes, that’s a cassette tape you see. Don’t judge me.

THIS is what I see, 6-8 hours a day:

Well. . .to be honest, I should have a Facebook chat session up with the Asiagoans, but those are private and I WOULD get my ass beat for showing you THAT.

On Wednesday, I got to take my Daddy out on the Thriller Charleston boat, which I promote as part of my day job. He was an early NASCAR small track race car driver, so I knew that the adrenaline rush would be perfect for him.

I did NOT expect him to wrap up against the spray from the waves like a Babushka.

We did have a blast.

Sadly, I don’t have photos of my Wednesday evening event – a fancy cocktail party I had to attend for work. I took my aunt, who loves a good party, along for company. She bought an outfit for the occasion, so I really will have to share a picture later. She looked WAY more glamorous than I did (as she always does), and greatly enjoyed the premium booze and food while I schmoozed. We then retired to Mercato, where I had a fantastic glass of wine and the yummiest pizza I’ve had in a long while. But alas, again, no photos. I was too busy nomming.

Again, Monday – Friday: My family can’t just visit. Oh no. Their hands itch to be busy all the time, but especially when they visit me in my old fixer-upper 1940s era house. I had a list of things I wanted to accomplish – finish the office (including paint and new curtains) and new curtains for the living room. Well. . .we at least bought the fabric for the curtains.*

The rest of the week, the family decided to make their own agenda. You see, Honey and I have an enormous yard full of old growth azaleas and trees. We both also have allergies to a most everything out there, so I leave the weekly maintenance to a yard guy and let the vines and dead growth just. . you know. . .create a thicker privacy barrier. Well, the family couldn’t take it anymore.

That neighboring house? We couldn’t see it before yesterday.** My Dad and aunt have been to the dump to haul so much brush away that I’m going to have to buy them a tank of gas.

What have I been doing, besides working the day job (and occasionally wandering outside to beg them to stop) while they did this? I’ve been doing this:

Squoozing Chaucer McLovin the Lovin’ Kitty makes it ALL BETTER.

Tonight: Dinner with the fabulous Angela Morgane and her equally fantastic main squeeze.

Tomorrow: The World Grits Festival, where there will apparently be people rolling in grits. Ah, the glamour. Hey, but then I get to have dinner with Matt Dean and HIS fantastic darling of a life mate, so the glamour quotient WILL go up for the day.

I swear, there’s poetry in ALL OF THIS. I just have to sit down long enough to write it.

*This actually took DAYS, and involved buying and returning stuff. My aunt is an artiste and often changes her mind.

**And we LIKED IT THAT WAY. Damn it. We’re hermits and we don’t like our neighbors LOOKING AT US.


About Sarah Familar-Ragsdale

Sarah Familar-Ragsdale is a writer and poet, a shameless multi-tasker, and a lover of good wine, lyrical prose, foot rubs, adrenaline rushes, and sweet tea. She can't remember a time when she didn't want to be a writer, and some of her favorite childhood memories involve an old IBM typewriter and stacks of onionskin paper. Her professional life has followed a meandering path - she has been a licensed Charleston tour guide, a metaphysical bookstore owner, and a minister to an eclectic spiritual community. These days, when she isn't trying to wrap up her on-going novel projects or making attempts to seduce the muses of poetry, she follows her other great soul calling as a certified Life Coach and spiritual mentor. Sarah lives at the edge of an under-tended garden in Charleston, SC with the love of her life and their two fur-children, Chaucer and Stella Maris. To find out more about Sarah's Life Coaching services, visit
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