The words weren't flowing. I was stuck, thinking, grinding my teeth, bewildered. As if the answers were outside, I watched through my window as the autumn breeze ruffled the trees. The warm, fresh air blew into the house, bringing forth a bouquet of scents. One aroma, in particular, caught my immediate attention--stirring the esurient beast within. Home cooking--rosemary, thyme, oregano.
Who would be at home at this hour of the morning, cooking, none the less? A dutiful housewife and loving mother came to mind. Her apron wrapped around her waist as she slaved tirelessly over a hot stove creating a delicious masterpiece for her beloved family.
My stomach grumbled. Oh, how I wished I could have been her child or spouse. To come home to an immaculate home with a hearty warm meal spread out on the table. I bet she even washed the sheets on the beds daily, so that they were crisp and fresh when her tired babies laid their heads down.
I felt ashamed. Should I not spend so much of my time writing, or in my case, thinking about writing? Should I be downstairs now, cooking up a storm for my hard working husband and son?
Reluctantly, I pushed the chair away from my desk, and walked down the stairs. But, wait...the aroma was even stronger down there. Did I leave the windows open?
And just like that, a flip switched on in my head. The lovely aroma was from my very own kitchen. Because, early that morning, I seasoned a delish roast and put it in the crock pot...oh, and I did laundry too.
Yeah, I guess I'm so good that I didn't even realize it. Ha! ;) Can I go back to day dreaming now?