It's technically still Sunday

I have 33 minutes to still make it a Sunday post.  It’s summer and a year ago I would have just bagged it, but this year I’m reluctant to let a week go. Though this is from a tired girl, I’ll still make an attempt. I won’t be able to sleep otherwise.

Two weeks after leaving the job I’m starting to wonder how I ever had time to work in the first place. It seems the days are going faster than ever and I still have not caught up all on the stuff I need to get done. Yes, it’s summer and I am occasionally taking a moment here and there to sit and read in the hammock, but those are really very few.  My garden is the most neglected it has ever been. Thankfully it rained this week as watering is completely off my radar.  What has happened to me?  How did I raise five kids, work full time, and still have a garden and a house to care for? Is  it just getting older and less efficient? It’s a little freaky.

It’s been the music festival this week and musicians are staying here, concerts are happening every night, out-of-town guests are visiting, restaurants are open, lectures are happening–––it’s social bulimia. Gorge in the summer, purge in the winter. Toss in a new relationship and there aren’t enough hours in the day.

This morning we left early for a trek south on an errand to collect my granddaughter for the week. Visits to relatives in the area were added to this itinerary, trying to be efficient and attend to the many invitations I have not been able to accept in the past year. Okay, I admit, I also wanted to show off my man, as there are still some who think I made this whole thing up.  All good.  It’s real. He’s real.  And a very good sport I might add; today was not for the feint-hearted.

We collected my darling who has been potty trained at the tender age of two.  A miracle of sorts until one finds themselves on a lengthy car ride with a call for the potty every half hour or so. That added some logistics and contortions and let’s say, creativity. Arrived just in time to hit the final concert of the festival, which, with a Bach violin concerto, was simply not to be missed.  My darling grandchild, after a long day, to the amazement of the rest of the audience, was captivated and quiet…for the first movement.  Confused that no one was clapping, she did a round of applause with her tiny delicate hands, looked around in bewilderment, and just as the conductor raised his baton, said, “More!”  Precocious, I thought, but wasn’t sure about the rest of the audience, so I scooped her up and we listened to the rest from the lobby, in between trips to the potty.

Home to a cuddle and bed for her, a final visit with the string section, a meal of leftovers, and a quick blog before bed.

Better job next week. Ahh, made it with four minutes to spare.