After several days at a writers’ conference, followed immediately by a week of camping, I came back home to play “catch up.” I was delighted to finally go through my goodie bag from the writers’ conference, where I discovered a door hanger that read, “Writer at work. Proceed at your own risk.”

Perfect! I promptly hung it on my bedroom door. However, Hubby works approximately three feet away from me, so the “risk” level remained unchanged. Still, I pressed on.

At the top of my to-do list: finish editing, formatting, and submitting six devotions I’d contracted with Guideposts for “All God’s Creatures.” A task that absolutely had to get done . . . just after I picked Hubby up from the Toyota dealership. He’d scheduled an early morning recall repair for his truck. No problem. I’m flexible. Adaptable. Cheerful, even. At least after I’d had my morning caffeine. And breakfast, which would be as soon as we got back from the dealership.

Since no one can tackle a to-do list on an empty stomach (that would be irresponsible), I would get to those devotions immediately after breakfast. Right after I cleaned up the kitchen. And fed the animals.

Finally, I hurried to the computer, expecting to get my first “to-do” done, only to find that Hubby was running a system update that would take an hour. Gritting my teeth, I did a few other things on my “to-do” list while waiting, although I hate to do my “to-dos” out of order. It feels like reading the last chapter of a mystery first. But desperate times, and all that.

Ah! At long last, the update finished. I opened my first devotion and was halfway through polishing it when Hubby picked up his cell phone to call our car insurance company—and put the call on speaker, no less. He HAD to make the call three feet away from me because he needed to use HIS computer to pull up data. However, it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d made the call from the opposite side of the house. Or from across town. He always assumes everyone on the other end of the phone is deaf and shouts at them despite my repeated shushing.

He probably picked up on the fact that I was less than happy when I stomped out of the room. With my creative spirit fading, I moved on to another “to-do.” I sat down at the piano to review music for Sunday’s service. Nothing calms the soul like spiritual music—though I may have played with slightly more . . . conviction than usual, as I heard the sound of Hubby closing the bedroom door. I suppose one really shouldn’t be passive-aggressive when practicing church music.

At last, the insurance call ended, just as the Toyota people called to say the truck was ready. Back to Fort Walton I went for the second time that day to deliver Hubby to the truck. But here’s the good news. Between the time I dropped him off at the dealership and beat him home by twenty minutes, I’d finished the edits and formatting on all my devotions and sent them in. Apparently, uninterrupted time is my superpower.

Meanwhile, Hubby came home and decided to start the laundry, which I was going to do the next day because I didn’t have time today. Don’t get me wrong. Hubby starting the laundry is marvelous—except that’s where he stops. Hubby starts the laundry, which means I finish it, including multiple trips downstairs to ensure clothes get into and out of the dryer. Otherwise, I get to redo the whole load.

By then, my grand plans to submit stories to Chicken Soup for the Soul and review my conference notes had “gone with the wind.”

So, I did what any hardworking, slightly frazzled writer would do. I gave up and played Solitaire.