Working while moving

August is typically a slow month for me. Summer reading programs in the Midwest have all wrapped up. Funding is low this year, so some of my regular gigs are not happening. In fact, today I'll have my only performances of the month, at the Lawrence Busker Fest. Trixie and I will pass the hat.

For once, this situation doesn't have me in the pit of despond. Truthfully, I don't have time for lots of shows. I've sold my house and need to be out by Friday morning. My sweetie and I are close to having a house in Kansas City, but until we do, I'm putting my belongings in storage. This week, I've tackled the biggest job: packing books. I have eight of these bookcases, and even though I sorted and culled and sold and donated, I still have taken several carloads of boxes to the unit.

I haven't yet finished going through my files, and don't talk to me about packing the kitchen yet.

Telling stories today will be a welcome relief from the complete pig's nest that my house has become. It's hot and humid, so the inside of Trixie's head will be sweaty (and maybe mine will be as well), but at least I won't be carrying boxes. Maybe I'll tell cool stories, like The Magic Ice Cream Maker, my version of The Magic Porridge Pot (or Strega Nona for all you Tomie DePaola fans). Maybe I'll tell Wait and See by Robert Munsch, in which the protagonist wishes for snow, snow, snow. Maybe I'll tell The Mitten. Or maybe I'll just take requests from the audience and see what happens.