This is the week from Hades, going on three weeks straight at work with only one day off (thankful that I have a job and that I love my job) and making cookies for Wednesday's memorial. I can't find my Joy of Cooking with all my notes that I used at the bakery. Because someone insisted that I pack up and leave my former life immediately, everything I knew descended into haphazard hell, while that particular someone chose to stay at a hotel. Yes, we all do suffer, don't we?
I've unpacked most of my things, but the demands of work and this house and my abandoned garden (paint, new shower, new floor, getting a room ready to rent) suck up all the time. I can't find most of my jewelry -- and I love wearing jewelry. I believe it's embedded somewhere in a box marked either "Christmas" or "Odd Stuff".
I fantasize that come August, I'll have time to:
1. play my piano
2. learn to play the concertina
3. write some new poetry
4. go through the remaining boxes
5. mow the front lawn
6. look for a renter
And yes, we do also all have our fantasies.
I realized on Friday that the August order file is bulging. Job security is a good thing.
We set up for our big retail show Thursday morning at 7am, and there still remains a lot of painting, pricing and packing to be done.
Meanwhile, the best kitten on the planet dozes on a kitchen chair while the marvelous scent of Russian Tea Cakes hangs in the air. It's the end of July, a day of heavy rain, my honeysuckle is dying and needs to be ripped out, and the tomato plants languish, grown beyond my ability to contain them.
But I'm singing this song tonight, rain & all: