Gary and I will go camping on Sunday with the idea of being away from what we call civilization during the election next Tuesday. We'll find out how it all turned out when we come back We turned in our absentee ballots last week so there's no point in politicians talking at us.
Last year, I was gone most of the summer, but I've decided that this year, I'd better be home at least half the time. There are things to consider.
There's the garden. I was hoping to have it cleared and in order by today, but the job was too enormous, with the accumulation of three years of weeds and overgrowth. I work at it every day yet I am only a little over half through the job. Weather permitting, I'll spend half the day doing manual labor while I am here.
There's the writing I must do. No matter where I am, I need to write a short story every other week for Black Coffee Fiction. I want to continue with the novel and re-work a previous one. Then there's editing for the short story collection we want to publish by September.
Rascal, our old black and white cat is nineteen years old this summer. His arthritis is getting worse and he isn't hitting the kitty litter the way he should. He needs a lap to sit on. He is unhappy with the strangers that come to feed him. He wants his people.
My decision is that I will let Gary camp almost full time this summer and I will join him at the campgrounds, three or four days at a time, except for the ten days we'll be circling Lake Superior in July.
The rest of the time I will be here, taking care of business.
Last year, I was gone most of the summer, but I've decided that this year, I'd better be home at least half the time. There are things to consider.
There's the garden. I was hoping to have it cleared and in order by today, but the job was too enormous, with the accumulation of three years of weeds and overgrowth. I work at it every day yet I am only a little over half through the job. Weather permitting, I'll spend half the day doing manual labor while I am here.
There's the writing I must do. No matter where I am, I need to write a short story every other week for Black Coffee Fiction. I want to continue with the novel and re-work a previous one. Then there's editing for the short story collection we want to publish by September.
Rascal, our old black and white cat is nineteen years old this summer. His arthritis is getting worse and he isn't hitting the kitty litter the way he should. He needs a lap to sit on. He is unhappy with the strangers that come to feed him. He wants his people.
My decision is that I will let Gary camp almost full time this summer and I will join him at the campgrounds, three or four days at a time, except for the ten days we'll be circling Lake Superior in July.
The rest of the time I will be here, taking care of business.
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