Sometimes I'm so deep into a book that when I have to take my head out for real life, the difference is startling. For example, I've been writing a book where the horses are trudging through crunchy snow, their breath visible in the frigid air when I have to take care of reality. Like go pick up someone from school. I go out and am surprised to find it's eighty degrees and the sunshine is beating down.
Last night the irony of the world I write about struck me when I ran out for supper. It's deadline month, so everything is quick. This time it was Sonic. My daughter asked me to grab her prescriptions on my way. I took her debit card and got into my car in the garage. I drove a few blocks past a lovely recreational area, drove through Walgreens window, where I didn't even have to sign because her signature's on file, then moved to the connecting parking lot and ordered supper where I used my debit card and again didn't have to sign. Then I drove home -- into the garage, stepped into the house -- without ever leaving my car or being out in the weather!
Only minutes before I'd been in 1880's Kansas with the dry prairie wind blowing and people boarding the Santa Fe passenger cars for trips that would take days.
Back to the topic of deadline:
I've always cooked for a crowd. I have four children. As they grew up and moved out it never got easier to cook less and think smaller. But now I make it work to my advantage. I still cook a large meal, and then I place meal-size portions in divided containers and stack them in the freezer. These are our deadline frozen dinners and they're healthy and homecooked! Hey, I should write Heloise, eh?