Experimenting, the challenge of trying something new rarely deters me. Reading through my email, I thought, “Why not?” And here I am!

Getting a late start on this Weekly Writing Challenge:  Lunch Posts writing exercise. The initial writing challenge was posted January 20th and proposes taking the approach of Frank O’Hara whose conversational Lunch Poems captured poetic vignettes he composed during lunch breaks.

Here we go! It’s lunch time, at least for me. Generally, I’m sitting at one of my computers, working, designing, writing, doing bookkeeping for our business, or I’m on the phone chatting with one of my offspring or my mom or a business associate. It’s not glamorous, in fact, but it is my normal routine (unless one of my grandchildren is here, and then routine slips into oblivion).

Noon does not equate to Lunch in my routine. Noon is simply an arbitrary point on the clock. My midday meal usually occurs closer to 2 pm, sometimes later; that’s because my morning meal may not happen until 10 a.m. Weird schedule, I know. Weird me!

My surroundings present a hodgepodge of distractions:  incomplete projects, magazines, read and unread books lining the shelves, an altogether too big copy machine, file cabinets and an oak period piece I’ve dubbed the “confessional.”

Work stations? There are three, though at the moment I’ve cobbled a fourth from an open file drawer on which a laptop is precariously perched. (It’s tax time and the business tax software was previously downloaded onto that laptop, so unless a grandkid ventures in, it will sit there temporarily until I plow through the annual agony of taxes!)

Outside, the sun is shining but it’s not yet golfing weather. (Good thing! I’ve got those taxes to finish!)

Across the lane, workers are busily preparing a 55 acre site for … what? We’re dying of curiosity, but a tree line (mostly scrubs) prevents a good view of their activity. Even through an upstairs window, I see only a few pickups scattered, three or four workmen moving from place to place, and a yellow bulldozer moving brush and debris into a heightening burn pile. (The barn disappeared before Christmas.)

The sound is what usually reminds me they’re over there. Periodically, the bulldozer echoes its characteristic “beep, beep, beep,” penetrating my quiet. There it goes again.

I check throughout the day to determine if their puzzle works to the point I can determine exactly what is going on. So far, no. I know I could take a walk down my driveway and across the lane to “supervise,” ask some pertinent questions, but to this point we’ve adopted a wait-and-see approach. Ranch? Estate homes? Time will tell.

Once I’ve consumed my lunch (green salad with ham bits, today), I pour my last cup of coffee and resume whatever necessary business must be accomplished before the day comes to an end.

Nope, no co-workers cavorting in a lunch room, not even a passerby with whom to chat. iTunes faithfully provides background music:  Tchaikovsky Masterpieces at the moment.

Sometimes, I get lost in the music … and the writing.

Quickly enough, though, my reverie is interrupted by reality. Lunch break over!