might there come a day...

...when I wont have even a photo from the day to offer you here?

No, impossible. There is always breakfast.





(Yes, one reason for taking breakfast photos is because some day the buck may stop there. Like today?)

And still, this day was awfully full. On campus from 9 until 8 and this after a night of Isis movements. The darn cat was supposed to stay out of my hair (or more accurately, his hair was to stay out of my bedroom) on nights before heavy teaching days, but somehow that rule mutated into something that doesn't resemble much of a rule anymore. Last night, frustrated with finding a cat exactly in the place where I was about to plunk down and exhale, I went to the guest Lemon Room and closed the door behind me. Until Ed came over and threatened to stay there with me all night. That didn't seem right: Isis gets the queen bed and we get the little double? And then I'll have to launder the sheets in the Lemon Room? So, more work, while the cat gently sleeps?

After that, the night was fairly calm. Isis went out once or twice, Ed was downstairs and upstairs once or twice and the chipmunks played crazy games just outside the front door (they're digging up holes close to the house, presumably because it's warmer there) until Ed put a big pillow over the doorbell chimes to mute their annoying call.

And then it was morning.

Ed tells me that I don't smile nearly enough and I try hard to consider the truthfulness of  this from his perspective. And here's my conclusion: our periods of overlap aren't smiling times. In the morning, when I am in a hurry. In the evening where I am either cooking or working or watching something on the screen while he is sleeping by me. In the middle of the night when Isis fusses. I tell you -- they're not guffaw moments. I promise him I'll do better on the weekend.

In the meantime, I rev up Rosie for the return ride home -- so much calmer than the mad dash this morning when I was running late. I thoroughly enjoy the breeze in the still of the darkening evening. Just enough wind to clear the mind and relax that muscle, so that the grin has an easier time making its way to the surface.