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I Love The Rain

Or do I? If I wasn’t stuck in a holding pattern of having my life spread out between the house, garage and back yard – and it wasn’t raining still, I would be a happy camper. A happy nester at least?

It’s the middle of July. The kitchen is kind of together, the bed is still in the living room, the languishing cooked and drowned plants are still on the edge of the balcony. No garden, save for the potatoes in a pot (Medusa 2016) that I planted at the other house as an experiment. She’s all leaned over from where the stalks bent moving.   But looking pretty lush and green. I don’t expect any actual yield. Maybe a few rotted baby taters because of all the rain? Or maybe Steve will get them before I have a chance. We’ll see. Lots of those around here right now.

I can’t dig the garage out until the rain stops for more than a couple of hours. First world problems? Well… Could be, a little. But I also can’t work. Its making me crazy. I could paint on a rainy day, but the paint is packed up too high to reach at the very back of the garage. It whispers, “no painting for you!” every time I open the door.

My kid-not-kid came over and put most of her stored stuff into bins for me yesterday which was great. I won’t be worried about it getting wet or providing an inviting space for critter developments. We had WAY too much coffee and I was up half the night. I might have been more productive but the bed is in the living room and regardless of how rock like someone sleeps, it’s still feels weird doing stuff in the dining room or kitchen while he’s sleeping RIGHT THERE.

So, like clockwork, the Stampede will be over on Sunday so Monday is supposed to be beautiful all day. Fingers crossed. If I don’t plant anything in the next couple of days…



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