How else can I explain the lack of output? I haven't written anything since my last poetry workshop at Chautauqua, in spite of resolutions to the contrary. I seem to have been adrift on a sea of ennui. But that luxury is about to end.
There is one week until we depart for San Diego. One week to prepare ourselves and the house for the onslaught of the granddaughters, who will be arriving before we return. There are rooms to clear, beds to make up, toys and books to rescue from closets, and plans to be made for their visit. And, since this visit is the last one before they depart with their parents for Dundee, Scotland for two years, there are a lot of other preparations to be made: storage space to secure, preparations for the transport and storage of their car, carseats to maneuver into back seats, and realignment of our Netflix queue to include the latest and greatest in kid TV.
And so, my current wish list includes a few days with tolerable levels of heat and humidity so that I can reclaim the sidewalk from the weeds that have staged a coup there. I'd like to cut back the plants on the patio so they can revive themselves in my absence with some new growth. I'd like a good rainy day or two to wash off the dust and give everything a good long drink of water. And I'd like the painter who painted my gate to come back and deal with the mess he made: the gate has blisters the size of my thumb that swell and deflate at random in various places. It looks diseased. Last time I let any painter other than Billy near my house!
But, so it goes. Before we know it, it will be fall. I don't know whether to be glad or not.
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