K will be home tonight after ten days away. Ten days is a lot longer than six. I lost interest in food during this absence, which I can’t explain. Seems all I want to eat is an eight year old’s diet: yogurt, blueberries, pancakes, and cereal. I made granola. Finn got the rib eye.
When we returned from Denver all the boxes of my sister’s stuff felt oppressive — even the ones in the garage.
I emptied two more. To preserve the glorious and moving variety of my sister’s clip file, I’ve started on album on Flickr.
Writing stalls and twists in on itself. To “get to yes,” I have to reduce a task to its smallest component. Not “open laptop and log in” small — but almost.
Dog walks provide ballast. The flag iris, so regal last week, start to fade and wither while the Japanese iris rise up in tight buds or open flowers of the deepest purple. It’s a pretty time of year.
The way certain things back up while K is away can be managed –right? — the critical appointments, the hopes for a beach house rental in August. Assertive is what I’ll be. Instead of bitchy.
Meanwhile Father’s Day approaches. I know what I WON’T be buying. Check out the price on these swim trunks. I was blowing through Bloomingdale’s yesterday and this little ticket blew my fucking mind.
One of the neighborhood library kiosks had a book he’d enjoy. I took it. That will prompt me to deliver a handful of books in return. A win/win. No money exchanged.
Last thought: I now know that whenever trump travels, my mood takes a big hit. For that reason (and because Mo hadn’t heard of Randy Rainbow), I’ll leave you with this. Can’t wait to see what he does with London.