I knew this week was coming, but I’m no more prepared for it today as I was three months ago.
This is the week our farmers market begins. Every Wednesday, from now until the end of September, will be spent manning a booth at that market, which means I am one day short for my freelance writing load.
Which means consolidating five days of writing into four.
Which means this boy is going to be scrambling for the next five months.
And the thing is, I love it all!
I love working the Market; I love writing; and I love summer.
It’s all good in my world!
During the summer of 1967, my buddy Frank and I needed some part-time work. We heard the Longshoreman’s office down on the docks hired temporary workers each morning for odd jobs around the waterfront, so one morning in early June we went down there at five a.m. and signed up for temp work. As luck would have it we were called on to work on a ship at Dock B, a big old cargo ship . . . our job was to shovel coal into the ship’s furnace.
It was ninety degrees that day, but in the furnace room it had to be one-thirty or hotter, and by lunchtime Frank and I had reached our physical limit. We both grabbed our lunch sacks, walked down the gangplank, and never looked back. That job, and shoveling pig poop at a pig farm, are the two worst jobs I have had in my fifty years of working.
I mention that because having my schedule disrupted, to work at a job I love doing, is not a disruption at all. It is pure joy!
I have never been so lucky, or felt so blessed.
I am a writer and how cool is that?
I am a part-time chicken farmer and how cool is that?
My life is pretty great!
What’s the worst job you ever had?
Bill
“Helping writers to spread their wings and fly.”
Billybuc
Artistry With Words 