hurried

Is it okay if I don’t make dinner? My 'to do' list remains long, very long.

Of course! You want to go out?

It’s like Ed to invite me out on a night that I have no time to wipe my nose, let alone seek a supper out on the town (if you could call Fitchburg a town).

I cannot. I have to sit and watch meringues bake.

Ed microwaves cheese curds, I bring out a box of crackers. I have to say that this is probably the lowest I’ve stooped in dinner preparation. Ever.

Of course, if I can’t cook supper, I can’t write here either. In a few minutes I’ll be picking up my little girl – she’s coming up from Chicago to coordinate and orchestrate the shower for her sister tomorrow. Me, I just follow instructions.

And I clean.

And I make sure that the garden doesn’t wilt and keel over in these hot hot weeks of summer.

And I zap mosquitoes with Ed’s brilliant paddle zapper. Zap! Hisss! It’s very satisfying.

Yes, it's hot outside.  If you look out at the fields of corn, you'd think -- well, at least they're green.

...and the apples in our old orchard -- they're pink. Seemingly indifferent to the heat outside.

But don't let this fool you. All growing things are stressed by the heat and the persistant drought.

If there was a weekend when I would want the farmhouse to shine this year, it would be this weekend. And I have to say, in spite of it all, it does me proud. Thanks, old girl!