I’m a happy person, a Pollyanna who’s never seen a half-empty glass in her life. Even though I know too much of anything is annoying, I like being positive nearly all the time. It is, I suppose, my natural state of mind.

          Speaking of natural states of mind, I’m also a creature of routine. Although I don’t think I’m anywhere near obsessive-compulsive, I do like a schedule. It’s fun to break away from—for vacations, for exciting things, for spur-of-the-moment adventures—but for the most part, you could pretty much set your clock by me.

          This is our first winter away from…well, away from winter. It’s warm here, we have a nice rental house, and I love spending more time with the family that is here. The boyfriend and I have lots of together time. Even Walmart is convenient instead of 12 country miles away.

          I’m happy here, too, but it is different because I sometimes have to work at it. I didn’t go to church today because no one has welcomed me to the ones I’ve tried—startling to a lifelong Methodist who expects to be met with an outstretched hand and a casserole J. I don’t enjoy cooking because the cookware and the appliances in the rental—though modern and nice—have much different personalities than the ones at home. Sewing is difficult because I have to spread things on the floor instead of my perfect-height table. When I write, I carry my laptop around in search of a quiet place. A right place where I can concentrate.

          The story, with which I’ve struggled over these past months (and which you’ve heard about way more often than you really want to!) is searching for a quiet and right place, too. It’s working toward its Happily Ever After instead of skipping merrily into place.

          And maybe this is okay. The happy I have to work a little to maintain these days is no less because I’ve struggled with it. The story I’m writing is—I hope—the same way. And the routine? Well, this is just a little bit longer adventure than most.

          See you next time. Be happy.