The painter has left and I've got hours of replacing switch plates and furniture ahead of me...naturally the color bug bit hard and I'm eyeballing a couple of wood cabinets that could do with a bit of color. If you see a rabid-looking woman grabbing pints of chocolate brown, saffron and sage green paint at the hardware store, that's me, brimful of optimism. If I can't have color outside my digs, I'll bring it in with a brush.
It's May and the only thing abloom in my yard are forsythia and daffodils--cheerfully yellow against the dead stalks from last summer and the grey skies. It's May, but still the wind rages, the clouds smother and the air chills us to the bone. Traditionally Mother's Day is the "safe date" by which to plant gardens in Wisconsin. This year the greenhouses have set out flats of pansies, nothing else. I keep whining, "I'll never get our garden planted. Not EVER this year. I'm so sick of cold weather." Even I'm sick of hearing me whine.
My beloved laptop (the old slow one, with missing keys) crashed again, and because I've not embraced Mr. D's gift wholeheartedly, I'm stuck with a functioning laptop (faster, sleeker, but with the annoying mouse issue) that has none of my bookmarks or current writing projects. If I haven't dropped by your blog lately, it's because I can't--not because I don't want to. My back's up against the wall and I will have to make the new laptop my primary one, so I'm trying to bookmark as comments get left behind on my blog. Bear with me, please.
As previously mentioned, my sister has moved to town. She just invited me over for brunch on Mother's Day. Yeah. I'm torn between being nice and going and being selfish and enjoying Mother's Day alone at my place. But Mother's Day is just a day, right? I mean, I could indulge in solitary gardening and reading any time I want--it would be generous to go to her apartment for a few hours at noon. Shall I be Frank and say it depends on the weather? This is one of those tests God gives me, I'm to be kind, which isn't the same as nice, is it?
In my final act as PTA president, my family is triple-booked the night of our last meeting. Naturally issues have come up requiring delicate diplomacy. I will look like a weenie skipping the meeting to attend Mr. T's school performance that night, but perhaps it's for the best and someone will step up and take charge. I flatter myself to think I'll leave a huge void. Really, it might be better for everyone that I'm not there, flapping my jaw and manhandling things to my satisfaction. Time for this sister to back off.