For the first time in many years, I do not have a manuscript waiting on my computer for a dramatic (or, in my case, not so dramatic) ending. On this last day of August, which, for me, is tantamount to being the last breath of summer, I shift gears and begin thinking about my next writing project. (This last one, of course, will still require work and attention, but I no longer have it suspended in mid sentence on my screen. It remains to be seen as to where, how, when it will be taken up again. You know how these projects go: you thinks you are capable of writing a book, you are encouraged by well meaning friends and, too, your companion who likes to refer to you jokingly as the one-day-famous-author-person and so you write. And then you finish. And then you have to deal with the "now what.")
If I am to fall apart in a post retirement disintegration and discombobulation it would be now, because for once, I really truly have no agenda. (Except to embark on my next writing project, but that one is still morphing. You can't enter a brave new world the same day you exited your comfy and familiar one.)
But I'm not falling apart. Farmette routines today had me plod through in the most predictable way: rising with the cheepers (to a foggy morning)...
...eating breakfast out on the porch with Ed...
...walking through the flower beds, mentally taking notes as to which of the spent flowers have to be cut back and how much and when.
It's a beautiful closure to summer. The sun is out, the air is warm. I imagine people are having countless picnics and barbeques -- the American rendition of Labor Day weekend. I think the tug-a-war championships are still taking place in Madison and I know the food fair is in full swing downtown.
Here, on the farmette, things are more quiet.
The big event is witnessing Martha the groundhog parade by the great willow this afternoon. The cheepers were napping, but I surely took note. For one thing, Martha has grown awfully large this summer -- she would be hard to miss now.
Ed and I play tennis in the quiet of our secret tennis court. The sun sets, day is done. Summer is effectively over, the new season, for me, begins now.
If I am to fall apart in a post retirement disintegration and discombobulation it would be now, because for once, I really truly have no agenda. (Except to embark on my next writing project, but that one is still morphing. You can't enter a brave new world the same day you exited your comfy and familiar one.)
But I'm not falling apart. Farmette routines today had me plod through in the most predictable way: rising with the cheepers (to a foggy morning)...
...eating breakfast out on the porch with Ed...
...walking through the flower beds, mentally taking notes as to which of the spent flowers have to be cut back and how much and when.
It's a beautiful closure to summer. The sun is out, the air is warm. I imagine people are having countless picnics and barbeques -- the American rendition of Labor Day weekend. I think the tug-a-war championships are still taking place in Madison and I know the food fair is in full swing downtown.
Here, on the farmette, things are more quiet.
The big event is witnessing Martha the groundhog parade by the great willow this afternoon. The cheepers were napping, but I surely took note. For one thing, Martha has grown awfully large this summer -- she would be hard to miss now.
Ed and I play tennis in the quiet of our secret tennis court. The sun sets, day is done. Summer is effectively over, the new season, for me, begins now.
