And this is why I’ll never be able to write a book

Eight Pounds of Berries. One Big Pot.

My mom is out of town visiting family and the boysenberries in her back yard are in full swing. This morning I drove over and picked about eight pounds of berries in about four minutes. Seriously. I could just stick the bucket under the bramble and shake. The berries would land in the bucket and I could just pick out the offending leaves and chase away the adorable preying mantis babies – of which there were a shocking number.

OK. Maybe it wasn’t that easy, but damn! Lots of fabulous fruit!

Monkey feel asleep in the car on the way home, so I took the opportunity to rinse the berries and mash them in a pan. While I’m waiting for them to cook down, I realize that this is the perfect time to shake up some fresh butter. And while I’m a shake-shake-shaking, I think, you know what’s good with fresh jam and home made butter?

Sourdough.

Flash to me digging the starter out of the back of the fridge and mixing up a sponge in the bottom of the bread maker…

So tomorrow we will have an amazing breakfast. Seriously noteworthy.

But a two hour nap has been wasted. Not a word written.

Oh. Um. Unless you count these.

But these are the easy words. The words that fly from my fingertips. Not the hard thought out, carefully chosen words that map my past and expose everyone around me. Not that I don’t want to write this book… I truly do. I’m just having a hard time finding the discipline.

Go Figure.

EDITED to add: Jane suggested I write a book on how to make jams and butters and breads, and I would! But, A.) mine never turn out quite like I planned and B.) Karen Solomon already did. And she’s got another one coming out this summer. Yum!