Focus, focus, FOCUS!!! Jeez, I'm distracted. Fifty papers to grade, husband planning to fly off to Madagascar, a funeral and cleaning out my father-in-law's room at the Dementia unit, my first readers' "verdicts" coming back on my novel (YES!!!!! PEOPLE LOVE IT!!!!), and gah.
I'm trying to write this month's Literary Mama column, about Family Food, and I'm uncharacteristically late for my deadline (though I have the best, most understanding editor in the world, and my father-in-law did just die so I have a bit of an excuse) and it just keeps wandering. To paraphrase Steve Martin's quote: "Talking about music is like dancing about architecture," writing about food is like painting about sex. It's just so BIG. And I'm so distracted.
I'm SO distracted that somehow I got off track and started writing about dogs and Breatharians. What? Dogs and Breatharians?
"FOCUS, Lutz!!!" Cut, cut cut.
Here are the outtakes:
"Even the dogs are strange around food. We have two dogs, Mollie and Lola. Mollie, our yellow lab shepherd mix, has beautiful eyes and a sausage-y body. And the most important thing in her life is food. She's "very food oriented." She's a garbage hound. She'll eat anything vaguely edible and has the physique to prove it. Lola, our other dog, also a retriever mix, has to be coaxed to eat much of the time. And she's not very smart. She has to be reminded of the location of her food dish. Mollie gulps hers down then settles down near Lola, watching intensely until the moment when Lola stops delicately savoring her food and steps away from the bowl. Then Mollie pounces. She has no off switch. And, as I said, her physique proves it."
Okay, that sucks. And here's the Breatharian outtake:
"Once, years ago, I heard a Breatharian interviewed on the local radio station. He believed he could live on air. I Then he was busted in a local 7-11 buying junk food. But now it's all clear to me and I stand corrected: if you go to the Breatharian Institute of America website you will see that Breatharians are only allowed to eat double-quarter-pounders with cheese from MacDonalds and swallow them down with lots of caffeinated diet coke. Oh-kay. And for 25 million dollars this same Breatharian dude will help you ascend to a parallel planet."
Now I ask you, what the hell were those paragraphs doing in a column about food and legacy? But now that I've excised those paragraphs from my column-to-be, maybe I can get focused. On the family. On food. Now, where was I???? Painting about sex. Dancing about architecture. Eating dinner... oops, skipped lunch!
Oh man. Pass the Ritalin.