bluebells are ringing

(The long, strong arm of the tree outside the Shoebox.)

I persuaded my Russian lit professor to let me write my final paper as a short story instead. I'm writing a response to Chekhov's "The Lady with the Little Dog," creating a narrative from the perspective of the main character's jilted wife. It's been a great exercise, but it's also made me realize how rusty my fiction skills are. I may need to enlist some savvy editors to help me whip this funky little piece into shape.

I had two vivid dreams last night: one inspired by No Pants April and the other by reading too many wedding blogs. In the first, I dreamed I went home and was rummaging through my small, small corner of our giant closet (Property of A.G.F.) and was astonished and delighted to find 10 brand new, beautiful dresses. They were colorful and flowing and I couldn't wait to take them back with me to continue this month's challenge. In the second, Mom and I were walking in a field with Mrs. Edwards (where she came from and why, I don't know) as she showed us her set-up for a backyard wedding she was planning (for Sarah, perhaps, I don't know). She had hung a giant red birdcage from an oak tree and over the hill was an enormous field of bluebells. We laid down among the flowers and then Mrs. Edwards told us that we had to go corral a sow.

Guion and I are very, very blessed to be surrounded by such a great cloud of family and friends. I realize this more and more every day.

About 100 pages left in Ulysses. I've got to read something fun and easy next. Proust shall be postponed until the middle of the summer.