Patience

The past few years of my life helped me develop some patience, but I still could use quite a bit more.  Pregnancy is an exercise in waiting, especially at the end.  Children--ah, children are a wonderful way to learn you can't plan everything (or, some days, anything).  And then there's publishing, which moves slowly (it doesn't help that I query slowly as well), and finishing books, and polishing books before you send them out...I'd like to think I could tell my five-year-old self, who really, really hated it when her mom said, "Patience is a virtue," that I've finally got it down.

Except that is a lie.

At least I've been patient about talking about the holiday season on this blog!  I love Christmas.  I love the music and the lights and that warm family-together-fuzzy-nostalgic feeling I'm sucker enough to get.  I do not love sappy horrible songs like "Christmas Shoes," but old classics like "Silent Night" and "Angels We Have Heard on High" can put me in a good mood within three or four notes.

But I am patient, and it's November, and I'm not posting about Christmas yet.  Nope.  Not one word.

So here is a totally innocent picture of Auburn, Washington, where I grew up.  The pine trees are coincidence, as is the snow, because I am waiting for two more days!  Except for the fact that we've already put up the tree, and the lights, and the nativities, and the train...