Tuesday, September 13, 2011


There ought to be a Polish proverb of this sort: you cannot rush an Ed because if you do, you’ll have yourself a Fred.

This would translate into something like – don’t even try to hint to Ed that the painting of the farmhouse project might fare better if something was done to move it along on a fairly (dare I suggest – daily?) basis. Because Ed cannot be hurried. If the person responded to attempts at hurrying, he would not be Ed, he’d be maybe Fred or Adam or some other dude.

As a result, the farmhouse currently looks like it has spotted farmhouse disease and, moreover, there are scraping/painting implements on the roof, inside on the stairs, by the porch, just outside the bedroom window – you name it, they are there.

Typically the way to move a farmette project along is to roll up your sleeves and contribute. But I cannot. My sensible time is spent thinking work thoughts. At other times, I cease to function with any degree of alacrity.

I know I once said that I preferred intense work schedules, so long as they are complemented by long periods (such as the summer) of nonwork, but that is a more difficult claim to make when I am in the "intense" time frame.

Ah well, at least the evening is delicate and lovely, on the Square, with daughter, over dinner (over a book before she shows up). One of the last Graze meals to be had outside this year.

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And Rosie is there, in her usual off street parking spot...

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...waiting to take me home, by the light of the moon...


...to the spotted house in the country.