Friday Happy Hour: Now Less Time Away Than it Was Yesterday

The first week of school lays you flat. Right this moment I am a fish that flipped for a good long while, eyes fixed in that fishy expressionless terror, scales gleaming in the late summer sunlight. . .now my gills barely move, I am breathing my last and reconciled.

All right, so that's a little dramatic. Still, there was a seed of weariness that I felt in my right shoe at the beginning of the week, but I've walked on regardless and the seed has blossomed into a tree; I have born fruit, big pears like the ones we caught Grassy Sam, our resident groundhog, feasting on yesterday. We just let him keep on, ridiculously satisfied that at least someone is harvesting our garden this fall!

What's up with the metaphors today? When I get tired like this, happily tired, actually--I lose the ability to think in Roman Numerals. I go mosaic and begin rambling.

*Beware*

Oh, and grandparents, the first-day-of-school photos are forthcoming. I promise!

I whipped up a quadruple batch of pumpkin bread and wrestled my numerous pattypan squash into a submissive curry soup before they could keep breeding in the corners of my kitchen. I have only two more to chop to pieces now and a hefty zucchini which is sitting by the cutting boards like a beaming green Buddha.

I think Bea is on the loose. One more day to Friday happy hour. Maybe I will even get to have a conversation with Martin--a real one--this weekend. One can hope for a brief cessation of wild activity. . .

Oh, and PS., my story, "Birds in Snow," was given an award of distinction from Midwest Literary Magazine. If you haven't read it, you can now by clicking on it down the page at right.