Green grass and buds on my apple tree at last. I thought they'd never come. I've been plotting my escape to somewhere with real trees for weeks.
It's been a busy week. I turned another year older, and had more celebrations than I'd planned. I feel like I've done a million things this weekend. I bought an asparagus plant for my sister, searched three greenhouses until I found Autumn Gold pumpkin seeds (as I hate to deviate from whatever Lois suggests -- she knows best, doesn't she?), I cleaned the house, went to the farmers' market and bought a ham and some bread, had tea, wandered around the city with my sister, came back to a surprise party in my back yard, ate veggie burgers and drank beer and sat around a campfire with family and friends. And that was just on Saturday.
Just now I've filed an article I've been putting off (its deadline is today and I only just finished it). I'm sitting in a cafe downtown drinking chai while my husband is just a block away, digging up the road and wrecking havoc on traffic.
I am finally, finally going out to the lake this weekend and I can hardly wait. It has been too many months since I've stood on the beach by myself, staring out at the lake and willing that fluttery, anxious feeling in my chest to go away.
I've got five or more articles due this week before my dog and I can get away to the relative wilderness of the cabin lot. They might as well put me on payroll. All in all, it's not a bad gig.