The wind shifted last evening. I walked out of the library with L and L from writing group and was met with a blast meant to topple a person. The chill was barely there, but the ferocity left no doubt that Mother Nature is tiring of Indian Summer.

I wrestled the steering wheel the whole way home. Even toyed with the idea of scooting through town as opposed to taking the highway and the rural road, but the latter is faster and I was already running late.  Much as I love writing group, I miss evenings with Rob. We are just coming off a three day weekend and have another coming up with Thanksgiving next Monday, but even the generous amount of time we spend never seems quite enough.

The coming weekend is full of kid stuff. ElderD is 26 this Saturday. It seems odd to me to have a daughter that age. Grown children are so different than little ones. They relate on levels that a person doesn’t dream is possible when the daily battles of “Yes, you will be wearing shoes out to play when it is 8 C” or “No, we will not be eating bad food* for dinner like X, Y and Z school friends do.” 

Young children are a job. The work that goes into forcibly molding them into people other people will not run screaming from is taxing, and I am only guessing, but I think that’s what makes adult children such a compound joy because not only are they the kind of people you want to spend time with but you helped in the process that made them so.

Thanksgiving will be both older girls and possibly ElderD’s “friend”. I use the quote only because Rob and I really don’t know what kind of relationship is in the offing here. ED is so in love with him and he professes love for her – she tells us, but though they have recently moved in together – they each have their own bedroom. Perhaps this is a new thing with young adults? 

Anyway, the house will be full and I am attempting more culinary feats that two years ago I would have thought a person was mildly insance for suggesting that I try. Homemade everything really or I won’t be able to eat. Pumpkin pie, Zuchinni bread. Cranberry sauce. Salmon and Turkey breast. Yams and mashed potatoes with a side of green beans from our garden. I am awesome, don’t you think?

The blogs seem oddly quiet today given that the financial world is still in freefall and Obama and McCain “debated” last night. I missed the debate. A cursory glance at the news this morning that Obama was charming and “presidential” and McCain was angry when he wasn’t just grumpy or playing Obama’s echo. I feel sorry for them both. Obama will inherit a straight-jacketed office from Bush and McCain will never get this shot again. And god forbid that Palin is still viable in 2012.

Rob greeted me this morning with news that interest rates were cut again. All the money and cuts don’t seem to be having their intended effect however. Are investors and Wall Street types too girly for such a stressful pastime? It is appearing so. 

I saw an interesting piece last night on AIG. Apparently a week after their $85billion dollar bail out, they sent their top officials to a ritzy spa in L.A. for a modest $440,000. Hey, they were stressed – supports my girly theory nicely, don’t ya think?

Speaking of financial crisis, I have a piece up at MSU on the bailout and such. I would be pleased if some of you checked it out.

I am nearly ready to launch my maiden piece at 50 Something Moms too. However, my editor wanted me to take out the reference to my age. I am one of – or the – youngest writers there and my mentioning my age caused a bit of commenting she told me. It makes my topic apt though – being inbetween. Forty-something is the new thirty only in the minds of advertisers. To everyone else I am still not young anymore and not old enough to be part of the “mature” woman crowd.

Reminds me of the Harry and Sally exchange in the film when she wails about turning forty and he reminds her that it is eight years off. She comes back with “but it’s out there – looming!” 

I am looming. Hovering. Not young and not old. Not a writer yet and more than a housewife.

Another story rejection arrived the other day from failbetter.com. The White Boots. It’s one of my personal favorites, but I know why it’s being rejected and I have decided that perhaps I can rework it and fit it into Drama Boy’s story. 

Drama boy is a character from my NaNoWriMo novel of last year. In it I attempted to fictionalize my widow experience but I think now that the focus should have been on his character and not my doppleganger. The White Boots can become part of his back story though that will make him more “Rob-like” than he already was – which is weird because I conceived his character long before I met Rob. Prescience, eh?

But I recall promising Sally that I would publish the story here should I fail to get it into print elsewhere. So look for it this week. Friday maybe? I am not pleased with T-shirt Friday. It has a too exhibitionist feel to it. Not that I am not. Rob teases me – accurately – about this tendency of mine from time to time. But one, I am not a t-shirt kind of girl, and two, it feels lonely. So let’s consider it history, shall we? 

I am thinking that perhaps a Halloween Friday might make up for it at the end of the month as the last Friday is the 31st. Let’s ponder that a bit. Let me know what you think.

Ah, rambling, it is so much easier than actual writing with that whole “sticking to a topic” thing and all.

*Baby also asked why her friends tummies are big whereas her own is flat. “Is it because they eat bad food?” To which I responded that they also likely watched too much tv when they should be playing. She then told me she was glad that she was not fat like they were. Oops. Now what have I done?