Free Beer Tomorrow

A short walk today trumps the promise of a long walk tomorrow.

It's fitting, I suppose, given that I've written about unfulfilled promises of tomorrow, that Beau gets that promised walk on the last day of the August NaBloPoMo challenge.

I won't be coming back to these pages tomorrow. I will, however, show up with a modicum of regularity at some of the blogs, websites, you see in the box to the right. It would make my day to run into you at one of them from time to time. If any of them strike your fancy, I hope you'll subscribe - that way you'll know when a new post goes up.

See you tomorrow, somewhere.

Working the Inbox

One of the most important things I want to get done is to dig out all the paper I can find with my writing on it and either scan or type it up for preservation online with a backup on a hard drive. Additionally, I want to get as much of my life and history as I can recorded somewhere. I have a daughter and grandchildren who may one day want to know what life was like back in the olden day.

What can I say, it's a compulsion I have - my family will benefit. It's a win - win.

Short on Tomorrows

Running out of tomorrows to write about tomorrow. There are only two days left in August and National Blog Posting Month.

That's assuming I'll still be around to write them - a reasonable assumption. But that little TIA (transient ischemic attack -- mini-stroke) I had a while back made it clear that getting from my morning coffee safely to dinner is never a given.

And that is just so unsatisfactory -- the nagging possibility of being cut down mid stride with an inbox full of unfinished business. But it has me thinking: Which items in my inbox should I dig out and try to finish first before the lights go out?

More on that tomorrow...

From a Remote Location

In Austin tonight with GB. We picked out rings today and had dinner at La Traviata. Got to run now. Sorry to bail on you. Will do better tomorrow....

Abandoned Prayer Beads

Zehra is in Turkey now. She left the Ph.D. program. She went home and she's not coming back. What do I do with the orange sajada - prayer rug - and the beads for praying, her subhah she left behind? And this Qur'an? -that has softened with wear, where here she underlined a passage...and here. The words are Turkish. And I wonder how these sacred, well-worn objects missed the plane. What do I do with abandoned prayer beads?

Not Today

Not much to say today...

Working on a little project for this adorable granddaughter who is a senior this year.

See you tomorrow.

Why? you ask...

Any sentence that begins with why triggers my prepare to defend/justify/explain nerve faster that you can say synapse -- alert to the expected judgment, criticism. Sometimes the other person is innocently gathering information, or is sincerely interested in getting to know me and the way my complex and endlessly fascinating mind works. That I will happily sit and discuss – long after your eyes glaze over and start darting desperately toward the door.

But if I’m asked:

Why did you do that?

Why do you do it that way?

The implication is (it's all in the tone of voice) that the questioner thinks that no rational, decent human would do that. And why did I do it that way instead of this way, which makes so much more sense. The short snappy answer is Because I want(ed) to.

After the primitive this bozo must die part of my brain is calmed by the rational frontal lobe, it creeps sheepishly to the back of my cranial cavity, and I am then able to explain. Maybe not to the satisfaction of the questioner -- that's where the defend/justify part comes in, but at least I've put down the knife. Fully composed, with a hint of maniacal glint in my eyes, I turn: Why do you ask?

Tomorrow -- I Promise

It's a blessing that Beau doesn't know about tomorrow. I would be ashamed if he had a count of all the promises for a walk tomorrow that never materialized. He simply wakes up every day open to the possibility of a walk, a ride, whatever comes his way.

I'm not any better at keeping promises I make to myself -- Tomorrow I will: eat more vegetables, clean out that closet, sew on that button, make time for yoga, write that article, be kinder, be on time, be a better version of me, scan photos, write thank you notes...I could fill pages with this. Maybe you could too.

We promise. We plan, knowing that the tomorrow we see shrouded in mist before us could knock us for a loop when it rises up, urgent and demanding under our feet. But you and I, we humans, are a relentlessly hopeful species.

And so, tonight I promise myself that I will begin writing my post earlier in the day tomorrow. I want to give you my best writing instead of what my sleepy, foggy brain can produce at the very end of my day. Wishing you the best, whatever your plans and promises for tomorrow.

Wilted Roses & Hungry Birds

The roses by the front door need the wilted blooms removed to make way for vibrant red buds. The zinnias would benefit from the same. Heavy hyacinth vines are climbing over the turk caps, which are holding their own against the invasion. But the cotton lavender is slowly being overwhelmed by the turk caps. It should have been transplanted way before now.

The bird feeder is empty. It hasn't fed a bird in months. The hummingbirds stop by now and then for a meal where the two big "flowers" usually hang. Finding nothing, they move on to the turk caps, which provide, I am sure, healthier fare. The only good I've done the birds this summer is to keep the bird bath under the pecan tree filled. This afternoon there was a whole lot of scuffling going on as starlings vied for a place in the water.

Most summers when I get home from work I go directly to tending garden and lawn. But not this year. Why? I could say my shoulder problems have held me back. That would sound good and you might believe it, but the shoulder's not at fault. I'm blaming the computer. Yes, yes, I owe you email - so what the heck, you want to know, am I doing on the computer?

Well, I'm gonna tell you - and I hope you see the irony in it. With a lowered voice and a sideways glance: I'm farming. Hey! I've got a big spread now with acres of crops to tend. And when I'm not working my farm, I'm helping my neighbors, or picking up work in the marketplace. Sorry, but I can't hang out here with you any longer. I've reached level 27 and can put a river through my place. I need to get to it. The roses? I'll clip them tomorrow.

Her Birthday Was Yesterday.

I don't have much time to write. Just got home from celebrating a friend's birthday and the deadline is minutes away. Her partner cooked dinner for six of us while we listened to classic rock from the 60s and 70s. The birthday girl introduced us to a drink that begins with Malibu Rum, ends with a squeeze of lime, and includes cranberry - raspberry juice. Several little Cornish hens were baked in a couple of different sauces and served at dinner accompanied by fresh veggies and rice. Really, really good as her meals are famous for being. The spice cake birthday cake and ice cream made a delicious dessert.

As incredibly good as the meal was, the best part of dinner was the people gathered around the table. I am the newcomer to the group. I met the hosts only 8+ years ago. Others have known them 25 and more years. They are warm and welcoming people. I loved the way everyone was so easy with one another - the bursts of laughter, the emotional recounting a tragedy, the many references to a shared history.

Out of time for this post. Wishing you the best of tomorrows.

What's a tomorrow?

I can't talk to Beau about tomorrow or even about five minutes from now. He seems to anticipate the treat he gets before I leave for work each morning. But I think he reads the signs that tell him, I'm about to go. Truth is, he hasn't a clue how this time thing works. Dogs are pretty much stuck in the now.

And so are cats. Years ago when my hair was still brown, I had two cats, Shannon - the white one - and Elan. You see how keen they are to take over a lap. These pictures are several years apart and I can tell you, there were many times a cat, especially Shannon, jumped into my lap of a cold morning, curled into a ball, purring loud and shamelessly. What she didn't know was that I was just five minutes away from coming up out of that chair. I envied that - her ability to enjoy the perfection of the moment - to be so totally present that her contentment was deep and absolute. I'm here. I'm warm. Life is good.

We people, on the other hand, have that annoying frontal lobe -- which can easily frazzle a good cat nap: Darn, not much time - it's 8:35. She was supposed to be out of this chair by 8:30. But yesterday she sat 'til 8:45. Ten minutes I've got...maybe. Quick! Fall asleep. Crap! Is she getting up? No, just shifting to reach coffee. OK, five minutes, surely I've got five minutes more.

Admittedly, my frontal lobe has served me well - for the most part. I don't chase cars or dash out in front of them. I can't recall ever climbing a tree I couldn't get down from, although I find myself occasionally dangerously out on a limb. But what a gift it would be to enjoy a shoulder rub without fretting that it's going to end too soon.

Cell Phone Rant - it's not what you think

Sometimes I hate cell phones. I'm not talking about being forced to listen to a stranger's conversation in a public place although, really, who hasn't wanted to jerk that phone out of their hands and remove the battery and the simm card?

I'm annoyed beyond reason sometimes at the way cell phones intrude on the one-on-one time I'm spending with someone. You've experienced it too, I know. Sorry, I have to take this, as they pull the phone from their pocket. Since when does a ringing phone take precedence over a person standing in front of you? Isn't that what voicemail is for? Unless the call results in a high-speed drive to meet an ambulance at the hospital, it is not an emergency.

And don't get me started on texting. Too late.... You're hanging out, and some noodle in the group spends most of the time texting...with who? about what? Hey, get your nose out of the phone and join us! We want to talk to you too.

And here's a new one. Did you know that while you are talking to someone on a cell phone, they may be using their phone to text someone else or answer their email or play solitaire at the same time? Yep. It's true. It happened to me. It could happen to you.

I miss the days of having the total attention of the person I'm with. OK, they may be daydreaming of something else while I'm yammering on, but they're talking to just me and no one else. We aren't interrupted. They don't have to come back and ask, where were we?

Do we multi-task so much that we don't know how to stop? Is each and every one of those balls we have up in the air so critical that if we let one fall the consequences are just too dire to think about?

Believe me, I know I'm trying to push water up hill here. Technology - good and bad - is here to stay. But, please, while you're talking to me, take that blasted thing out of your ear.

A blog?! What's that?

An invitation to view my blog met with What's a blog? Why would anyone want to do that?

Everyone's motivation for writing a blog is different no doubt. A few gifted people want to share what they know about a subject of interest to others: productivity, gardening, how to raise parrots, you name it.

Most bloggers, I think, use it as a tool to keep friends and family updated and display the latest photo of the kids.

Why do I blog? It's simple: I've got to write somewhere. Writing is what I do. I write most mornings in a paper journal. It's great for recording what's been happening and what I think/feel about it. If you were to peruse it, you would also read where I've tried to make sense of and bring order to my world. In many respects this blog is an electronic extension of my journal.

But that wasn't my intention when I signed on for the NaBloPoMo challenge. I really wanted to explore the theme of tomorrow from a number of angles. What I've found, though, is that in order to get something posted daily, I have to resort to journal/diary type stuff - with photos to illustrate. And I've had a lot of fun with it and I hope folks who read it have been entertained.

Mostly though in recent years, I write to leave a record for my daughter, her children and theirs (yet to come). They may want to know more about who I was. Hints are everywhere - hidden - sort of like Easter eggs. Boxes of journals, more boxes of typed pages, lots of papers written for college, poems and prose on odd pieces of paper, some drawings. And this blog is just one more colored egg for the basket. -- this is what great-great granny wrote when she had to post every single day for a month.

Well....I'll be back here tomorrow, I hope you will too.

Is it just me or this page getting narrower??

I have a headache. I'm tired and I'm cranky. I worked late so Beau didn't' get fed until 8:30. He's feeling a bit cranky himself.

So this is all I have for tonight......

I've been watching a pair of mourning doves from this window for a couple of weeks fly in and out of this lace bark elm beside the driveway.

Sunday I went out to get a peek and this is what I saw.

a bird butt.

I've got to go farm now. I'll try to do better tomorrow....

Not About Tomorrow

We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand - and melting like a snowflake.

This is it, I often remind myself. This moment, this breath - this is your life. Open your eyes. See the purple sunset, Venus rising in the east, the mockingbird on the light post. Listen. The wind plays a different song passing through the cotton wood than it does through the cypress. Do you hear it?

I sit at this computer. My shoulder hurts. My back aches. The chair seat is hard and not so comfortable. Can I be in this moment too?

When Dennis pulls and twists my arm in directions I'm certain no arm should ever go and he ignores my grimace and he tells me to breathe and he asks if I'm okay and when I whimper yes, a voice across the room says Liar! Can I stay in that minute and not wish it were any other?

Honor the gift each precious moment brings. That's what I tell myself.

Down on the Farm

This morning I took the cyber highway out to Billie Gail's Farm on Facebook. Crops were not quite ready to harvest, so I checked to see if any "neighbors" needed help on their farms, but none were online. So I went up the road to the Market Place, where I was quickly hired by Corinna to harvest pumpkins and to plow. I've been considering expanding my farm, so when I finished up at Corinna's I headed to the Realty Office and bought 80 more acres.

Back at my farm I see that the onions and watermelon are ripe, but still no neighbors online. I could go to the Market Place and pick up laborers, but I'd rather give the work to family and friends so they can earn coins and pick up experience points, which they need to take them to the next level. A farmer's level determines what can bought at the Store. The store sells everything: seed, fences, building, flowers, trees, animals - heck, you can even buy a river to run through your farm - I can't wait to reach that level.

While I wait for neighbors to arrive I set about incorporating the extra acreage. A fence and the mailbox need to be moved to the outer edges of my new property line. I plow the new expanse of green grass. I move trees and flowers. I sell the goat, but decide to keep both cows. The decision has less to do with animal preference than it does with the artists who drew them. The cows are cute, but those goats just ain't right.

Farming is at its best when several neighbors are online at the same time. We take turns working at each other's farms. All of my neighbors are people I know in real time, and this is a great way to stay in touch. We chat as we plow. We meet friends of our friends who drop by.

When we can't find a neighbor, some of us send a text request for help with harvesting. Are we offended when we're accused of being addicted? We farmers just smile and nod, Excuse me I have potatoes to get in before they go to waste in the ground.

Half Way to the Prize

Can you believe it? I'm almost half way through NaBloPoMo. It hasn't been all that hard. Of course, the presence of Hope - lively, challenging and always charming - in my life provided more material for this blog than I had time and room to write about.

The truth is I never lack for something to say, some interesting - to me - topic to explore. The challenge for me of posting daily is that writing does not come quickly or easily for me. Can't remember who said (Hemingway?) I'm not a good writer, but I'm a hell of a rewriter. While I'm not in the same league as Hemingway or thousands of other amazing writers, it truly is for me all in the rewriting. And daily blogging doesn't allow time for that. What I write here feels raw and unfinished, definitely unpolished. Yet, given my undisciplined nature, that words have shown up in this space for 15 consecutive days is pretty astounding.

I don't know what you will find posted here tomorrow. I can only promise you that if you come back, I'll meet you here.

The Trip Back

Hope's foster mom has two greyhounds of her own. They are not quiet, placid as most are. They bark. They bounce. They almost knock you down with their exuberant greeting. Oh, did I mention that two foster greyhounds are in residence as well? And that they are as equally excitable?

Our greyhounds have always been subdued, rarely barked and never jumped on people. And because we value a quiet, tranquil environment, we assumed Hope would too. That she would prefer a home like ours over living with a rambunctious crowd.

So I was a little surprised when as we neared her foster home, she became very alert. She whimpered as we pulled up in the drive way, and seemed happy to be home and anxious to get out of the car.

When the front door opened, she threw herself into the mob with a dance and a growl at a female greyhound to reestablish her dominance. I'm back and I'm the boss now.

Gee! The poor thing must have been bored at our house, and a little lonely. The most excitement she could rustle up around here with Beau was a competition for who got to sleep in the best bed. And we know how that turned out.

No More Tomorrows

Hope easily navigates the doggie door and goes in and out on her own. So why does she still prefer to pee on the carpet instead of the grass? She will, in fact, come in from outside to take care of business in the house.

Neither GB nor I are equipped for handling this. That's why we adopt adult dogs who have good house manners. We thought Hope was one of these dogs. Our original agreement was to keep her a few days, while her foster mom was out of town, to see if she was a fit for our family. She's been with us four days extra. For over a week we tried and failed to house train her. Every day we hoped today would be the day she would "get it." At the end of each disappointing day, we hoped the same for tomorrow.

Tonight we are so very sad. Tomorrow morning we return her to her foster mom.

Bed Battles: Part 2

So this morning, when she wanders into the bedroom and spies Beau in her favorite bed, Hope opens a new front in the battle of the beds. It would never cross Beau's mind to get on the bed or any furniture. Not having experienced the alluring comfort of a plush sofa at the track, ours doesn't tempt him. Hope clearly has the more hedonistic spirit.

By the way, after snapping the photo, this mom gently shooed the baby off the bed. Hope took it in stride: big dog gets the big bed. Not that she won't try again tomorrow. Her name is Hope after all.

Magic Potions

GB found the instructions on the Internet. She printed the list of ingredients and we took it with us to the grocery store: Vinegar. Check. Baking soda. Check. Hydrogen Peroxide. Check. Is it 3%? Yes. The instructions say be sure to use only 3% hydrogen peroxide. It is 3%. Okay.


Next stop: Home Depot.


Check this baby out! Ultra strong suction. Perfect for pulling solution made from above ingredients out of the carpet where it has been liberally poured. Odors and stains hitch a ride with the vinegary concoction where they are deposited into the cute orange bucket you see here. Thereby restoring the carpet to its original state -- you know? -- the way it was before Miss I'd Really Rather Not Use the Doggie Door relieved herself on it.

We spent the evening talking to Melody, Hope's foster mom, and Ingrid, Beau's foster mom, getting advice on how to get Hope comfortable with the doggie door and how to encourage her to pee outside. Tomorrow after physical therapy (shoulder), I'm stopping by Melody's house to borrow a crate to contain Hope while we're at work.

Inside Out

Hope has the doggie door thing down. She doesn't hesitate to go out the door if she's asked to. It doesn't take much. Tonight all I had to do was walk to the door with her following me, step out of her way and say, "Out." She popped on out the door. A couple of minutes later, she popped back in. I don't think she left the back porch.

We just came back in from another attempt to get the girl to pee outside. This time when I got her to go out, her feet hit the porch just long enough for her to turn around and get her nose through the doggie door flap. I went outside and stood in front of the door. She nosed around in the grass briefly, then sat down and looked up at me. I waited. She looked around for a bit before sniffing about the yard and finding a spot very near the porch to poop. She returned to sit at my feet and, with snout lifted and nose twitching, she read the breeze. I gave up. Came back inside. She followed me through her door.

The goal is to get her to go outside to relieve herself on her own. As it stands now, she willing goes out when we suggest it, but it's never her idea, When she's left alone for too long, unfortunate consequences follow.

If only she would go from the inside to the outside as eagerly as she does the reverse.

Doggie Door Stand Off

That's Beau standing out by the back fence in the shade.

He wants to come in the house.

So why doesn't he??

BLOCKADE!

Is she afraid to navigate the doggie door? Or is Hope lying there because she enjoys napping in the morning sun? Good grief! Are we going to have to install a deck for she who will not lie in the grass?

Beau moves in closer and watches for his chance...

Unmoved, Hope stares back.

He changes his approach and nervously moves in closer.
Will she bark him off? Or worse...snap at him?

When asked if intimidation and pressure from Beua prompted her hasty entry through the doggie door, Hope shook her head:

I was ready to come in anyway!

The Doggie Door Blues

Yes, life continues to be centered around teaching a little English Coon hound/Greyhound girl how we roll at the Hasty Street Retirement Home for Greyhounds. Bed battles are not as intense. Furniture was moved today so that we could place both dog beds in the bedroom in cozy hidden nooks. We hope it makes them happy. The handyman we hire to repair the broken foot on the large wardrobe will smile no doubt.



Hope's foster mom has a doggie door and we were told this doggie knows how to use it. Tell me. Is this the face of a dog familiar and comfortable with the workings of a doggie door? She stands outside and stares in. You can see her eyes begging, for the love of all that is holy, will you please open the door?! A nose pushes open the corner, then retreats. She whimpers. She lies down on the porch in the sun. She watches us through the door. We know she can do it. She's gone back and forth many times. She simply hates the thing and wishes we would open the door for her. We wait. Suddenly, her head pushes through the flap followed by the whole dog and she is in! Each day we think tomorrow will be easier. Is it? Not so much.

It's My Bed Now

Beau takes matters into his own paws and does some rearranging of his own. Flip that bed and move it away from the wall. Parental units move in to override his decorating scheme and restore order.

And why was there no Beau to greet me on my arrival today? He was in his bed. Clearly, preserving his spot trumped welcoming Mom after a hard day earning coins to keep him in kibble.

As I write, Beau has possession of the bed in GB's office. Hope is restless, wandering in and out to see if the bed is still occupied.

~

~

Hold on! He moved to the bedroom. And was that flurry of white, moving at hound dog speed through the office door, Hope?

~

~

Don't ya hope I have something different to write about tomorrow? Yeah, well, you can hope.

Battle of the Beds

Beds are moved from room to room. They are arranged and rearranged. We try to keep both dogs happy.

Tomorrow we rearrange furniture.

Humor Me, Okay?

There's a new dog in our house and for a while I'm going to be one of those proud parents who can't stop talking about my amazing kid while I show you picture after picture. We've had a long, full day. So for now I'll just leave you with a photo of her in Beau's bed. There are two dog beds in the bedroom, but she likes his best. Not sure how this is going to work out.

It's All About Today

In an hour we pick up a greyhound mix. Her foster mom is going out of town for a few days and we're going to keep her to see how she fits in with our resident greyhound Beau. Beau and Windy, who died last September, were around 6 years old and retired from the track when they came to live with us. The girl we pick up today is only three - and that's a guess because she's a stray. Will she have that calm, regal demeanor common to greyhounds or will she be more like a "real dog"? Will she bark? Greyhounds rarely do. Will she get on the furniture? Beau doesn't and neither did Windy. Yes, we have our concerns, but we also excited and eager to meet her. And with a name like Hope, how can we not give the girl a chance?

An Explorer's Life

Tomorrow is an unknown land, an unexplored territory. I haven't been there. No one has. Yet I never stop trying to see it in my imagination; my mind's eye ceaselessly searches out its form. How do I map a destination built entirely of hope and expectation? I hope to reach tomorrow's shore and greet morning's first light from my big green chair writing. I hope that my traverse through tomorrow is pleasant, enriching and rewarding, that the people I meet are welcoming. But I haven't yet navigated safely through tonight, and the most skillful travel agent cannot keep tomorrow from changing my itinerary without notice. And isn't it the detours and unexpected adventures that I'll remember long after the tour as planned is forgotten?

Here's wishing us all courage for the journey and safe passage to tomorrow's end.

Joy of Composting

We waited for the dew to burn off the rain-soaked lawn before firing up the lawn mower. The grass was tall, which meant we had to rake. That's usually my job, but since surgery on my shoulder a month ago, keeping GB hydrated with bottle after bottle of water has been my main contribution. Today I was able to rake up about a third of the mown grass and haul it to the compost pile.

It must have been about 25 years ago when I first learned about composting. I was living in the country at the time, and the idea of turning kitchen scrapes into soil sounded almost too good to be true. So I found a good spot not too far from the back kitchen door and eagerly set about collecting potato peels, egg shells, coffee grounds and anything else tiny microbes could turn into dirt, added it to the pile and waited hopefully for the miracle. Things weren't moving along fast enough so I took a bucket to my grandpa's chicken house and hauled back chicken poop to speed things along. Several years worth of kitchen refuse, chicken poop, and a little ash from my grandparent's fireplace never created enough compost to spread on even the smallest flower bed. That most of the carrots, apples and such were fed to the goats and the lone donkey in the pasture across the fence were contributing factors no doubt.

I've been a compulsive composter ever since. Just give me a little spot of ground, and soon it has a growing pile of broccoli stems, melon rinds and used tea bags, although I haven't come across chicken poop since I left the country. Sadly, none of my subsequent piles have fared any better than the first -- until I moved to Hasty Street.
Check this beauty out. You're looking at almost six years of the usual kitchen scrapes plus grass clippings and the carcasses of countless zinnias, watermelon, sweet potato and hyacinth vines, and any other plant that died or was pulled up at the end of its season. This summer I put some of my homegrown compost on zinnia beds and in azalea pots. Is that exciting or what?!

So today I raked grass, took a shovel and turned it into the pile rich with dirt, apple cores, corn husks, and a small garden snake. Hard sweaty work followed by an ice pack on the recovering shoulder. That's okay. Today's sweat and blistered fingers will be forgotten when I dig my hands into the dark rich soil of my own creation tomorrow.

Time is not on my side

So here it is - the first day of National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo). I'm committed to writing something on my blog every day for the month of August. It's a goal I have set for myself. Writing for me can be slow and painful so I'm concerned that I won't be able to produce something for 31 consecutive days. And, oh, have I mentioned that I'm short on focus and self discipline? My hope is that in the interest of posting every day, my writing will loosen up because I won't have time to agonize over every word and phrase. Knowing that the NaBloPoMo folks are monitoring participants to verify we complete the task will boost my focus and scare me into a better disciplined approach.

So having had plenty of time to prepare and anxious to get off on the right foot, how is day one going? Let me see. So far I've written in my journal, enjoyed a long lunch with GB, watched Stardust, a movie Bill gave us. When at last I get around to writing, what happens? Storms have knocked out U-Verse, which powers our internet. I panic. Oh my god, what if I can't access the internet and I miss the first day of NaBloPoMo?! I should have done it this morning, but thought I had all day to get it done -- plenty of time to do it later I told myself.

I live, I swear, in a time warp. Time mocks me. I think I have time to do "this,"with plenty of time left to get "that" done as well. I'm looking at the hours of the day stretched out before me, disappearing into the distant hazy horizon, when without warning, time snaps, smacks me hard on the back of the head, throwing me facedown into a huge pile of unfinished, and by this time unfinishable, business. Time is up! And what do I do? Brushing myself off while I wait for the ringing in my ears to stop, and with an optimism far greater than evidence supports, I smile to myself: I'll do better tomorrow.

Watch this space

First post out August 1