Desert Magnolia

I'm a voracious reader, have been since I was a child. I was born into a TV free household, where management insisted 'The Man' was behind TV, and that our thoughts and reactions and habits were subject to undue influence if we watched.  At the time I resented that we were the only people IN THE ENTIRE WORLD without a TV, but now I respect and understand the wisdom behind that decision. Our bookshelves were loaded with everything from art history to social commentary to mysteries to science fiction to gardening references. I read everything, all of it, in spite of my young age. I have reread some of the early tomes, and realize I missed much of the intent of the authors due to my lack of maturity at the time, but since I've reread them, I got it later. Anyway, I love to read. I also love to write, mostly because I love to read - they're connected in my mind.  A few years back I got a library card, and am a frequent flyer at our neighborhood branch. I take my ba

At the beginning of last week (Week 1 of this self-imposed distancing extravaganza attempt to flatten the curve and slow that bitch of a virus down at least a little in the short term) I was touching base with friends. There was texting, there were phone calls. There was communication of one sort or another. As you may know if you've been reading my blog for any period of time, I am, at heart, a writer. Always have been.  When I was in grade school and we'd have to write something, I would be jumping for joy and outlining and plotting. I guess writing is my first and possibly enduringly most powerful artistic outlet. I was born with the urge. This urge has powered me through a career, has provided a therapeutic outlet, and remains a soothing pastime even now. So it's no surprise, when faced with the prospect of time and space unfilled with the normal clinic, patient care stuff I thought about writing. An aside. My son is encouraging me to write about my mid-life shif