The to do list after a period of craziness is crazy in its own right. All that I could do at this point is plow through it.
And after yoga. I felt sentimental at yoga class. If I scan the year since my last trip to the old country (last December), I recognize the big changes: one daughter moved, the other moved and married, Ed and I planting a fruit orchard, me plunging into yoga.
It's an insanely pretty day.
I ride Rosie in my yoga duds thinking it can't be too cold for the quick ten minute scoot. It's a mistake. It is too cold. I walk into class with very frozen shins.
After? you don't want to hear it. The farmhouse goes from being severely neglected to being pampered and looked after. It's a beautiful transformation and I'm happy to have the day for it, but it's not exciting in the execution and certainly not exciting to describe in detail here. Take my word for it -- the house sparkles!
In the late afternoon, we drop the red donkey car at a mechanic for a more thorough inspection while I'm gone. That, too, in itself isn't interesting, but I tell you this because the drive to the mechanic takes us through our usual back roads, giving me a chance to pause, to look up and to think about the great Midwestern sky I'm leaving behind tomorrow.
There, that was a good moment.
And now it's late and the laundry cycles are nearing an end and the wee little case is packed and the leftovers are scraped together to make for a filling if weirdly mixed up supper.
Forgive me for the brief post. And, as always, I want to warn of an erratic posting pattern for the next two days. They're travel days. I'll write en route, or if I can't, then from Warsaw. I should be there at a decent Monday hour.