It was hard to pull away from the Edible Flower puzzle to write. Laura, my friend from forever, is still working on it, and even though it’s been years since I’ve seen her, it feels like days. With her 42nd birthday just yesterday, I arrived with a small pink rose plant, and tonight we sang and had homemade strawberry rhubarb pie and ice cream for dessert.
Being away from the fray of house selling is fine by me. A country road walk with honeysuckle, wild daisies, and blueblossoms abloom, along with a beach walk of turning over stones to check out sand fleas and snails was the perfect distraction.
Across the bay from us and over a tree-infested hillside, a fireworks show went off. From our spot on the second story, Shelton’s “Logger’s Celebration” had ended with loud bangs that sent us from just-about-bed nestles to spying through windows.
Looks like we missed most of the events, and although I’m tempted by tomorrow’s carnival, sticking around here and spending time with friends far outweighs paying money for overstimulating crowds.
Without any offers on our house, I’m feeling neutral. Earlier, Nancy shared it took three years to sell their house, and Laura shared it took a year and a half. I’m feeling silly for any grievance I might have for not selling it after two days. Their reassurance did help, especially after I realized it’s only my ego that’s being bruised. Which…is that even real?
Like I told my friend, I’ve been checking off boxes on my seemingly endless list of to-dos. The house is the current empty box, and without it checked, I feel like a car idling. A car that would really like its keys turned to off so it could rest in the quiet of the garage.
It’s closing in on 11 p.m., and I am exhausted. If I close my laptop now, I may be able to beat still-reading Dave to sleep. (I always lose to his quick-to-sleep butt.)
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 