I finished a first draft of Fit Company for Oneself,
the second book in my series. The title comes from the proverb: Education makes
one fit company for oneself. The book is set from about 1960 through 1966, a
time of growing ferment in the external world. Major breaks with their cultural
traditions affect each of our protagonists too, as they struggle to match inner
and outer selves.
Line finishes as much secondary education as she can handle
and goes on to work in Chicago, meeting her match in Stephen Cohen, a young
sociologist caught up in SDS and anti-war work, and getting a little closer to
what her own life’s work might be. Marty graduates from Wittenberg College and
plans to go to Oxford, England, the following year as an au pair girl for an
American family. Paul finishes high school and wants to pursue his education
somewhere no Mikkelson has gone before. For each of them, the pressure of
becoming a unique individual mounts as they come of age.
Celebration, as with many people, was expressed in food and
drink! A fire in the fireplace with its crackling warmth and companionship.
(Don wasn’t home that evening.) A perfect Bartlett pear, blushed with salmon
and orange tints, a delicate floral smell and tasting as cool and fresh as,
well, a pear! A glass of crisp, tangy Kenwood Sauvignon Blanc from the nearby
Sonoma County appellation. And chestnuts. I tried boiling them, but they were
just as hard to peel as when I roast them! (Hint: They must be really hot when
peeled.) It was worth it, though. I love the earthy, sweet taste of chestnuts
with butter, salt and pepper.
The rest of the year, I’ll be working on editing this book,
so I can hand it over to others to go over with a finer tooth comb than I have.
And by about this time next year, it will probably be ready to go out. It is
good to let a book sit, I find, gestating, gathering time and further thought.
And next year? Next year’s book is called With One Hand Waving
Free. In which our protagonists begin to turn up in California and Alaska.
I know what happens in it, in a general way, but working out chapters and
incidents, making up the book, is some of the most fun a writer can have!
Virginia Woolf writes in her diaries about wandering over the downs in the afternoons,
making up her books in all weathers. It’s an image I love. With me, it happens
everywhere, doing the dishes, walking to the market, waking in the morning. One
is never not writing.
