Friday - 126th

It's going to be a hot weekend here, in south-central Wisconsin. Starting now. Or perhaps even before "now." I wasn't focused on the weather the past few days. It all just passed me by.


(Probably the best view of the Big Bed in its entirety is from the bathroom. Meaning as you sit on the toilet and contemplate life. And the four chickens sitting on the bench outside. Who knew chickens lounged on benches?)





I'm up to do my usual rounds. Animals and gardens, in that order. It's unfortunately very buggy in these early hours. The deer flies are gone (thank God), but the mosquitoes are having a good revival. And we are standing still with our spraying. Ed will ask -- should I spray with the garlic oils now?
I'll respond -- maybe not today. I've already done my work outside.
Tomorrow then?
Maybe we should wait until it gets even worse? It's not as bad as some years...
So no?
So yes! Maybe tomorrow?

And so we toss the decision back and forth and in the meantime I suffer. Not greatly, but moderately. Bzzzz, zap!

It is a given that I am going to clean up the lilies today. I've been away two mornings and this is their heaviest blooming month. Some spent flowers drop naturally, but most just dangle for a few days and they detract from the beauty of the flowers that are having their one day of splendor. So I am out snipping away, filling a bucket with spent lily flowers...





The photos, of course, are after I've made my way through a bed.

And how many lily heads did I snip off today? 1,040! Like the tax form, only different.






I'm sure it's a record, though it's not really a fair number, since some of the spent flowers are from yesterday or possibly the day before. Still, what a difference the removal of 1040 wilted lilies makes!






Sigh... I am lost in the happy world of day lilies. And that's a good thing, because so often these days, the head just swims with worry. The distraction is perfect. Snip and hum the lily songs that I always hum when I do this.






Breakfast, late, on the porch, with Ed, but he looks like he could use a beard trim and a haircut, so I leave him out of the photo and concentrate on the vase of lilies and monarda flowers.






And now for the drumroll: what will she do next on this day of comparative freedom? (The Madison young family is still at the lake today.) Yes, of course, grocery washing. Good. Do it and move on. To what?

To a return to my writing project (aka The Book). I haven't touched it for nearly two years!

You could say that I am on the edit of the final two chapters. It would be true, at least in theory. But the fact is that I always find new editing opportunities and so the thing is slated to never be finished.

I've come to the conclusion that there are two reasons for this constant need to do a rewrite. First, I think my goals have shifted. Initially, it was to be an impressionistic document (Is there such a thing?). I lived through interesting times, this is how they played out in my memory. Only after years of work on The Book did I decide to aim higher: it should be an interesting impressionistic document. I love reading memoirs, but I am too often bored by them. I read and edit them in my mind: this is too underdeveloped, this is too wordy, this is just plain dull. And if I'm going to be harsh with other people's writing, then I need to be even harsher with my own. So I edit. Again and again.

The second reason for the infinite reworkings is that were I to be done, I would have to do something with it. That, to me, is far less interesting than the writing of it. And here's a third problem: were I to be finished, I'd need to decide on the next writing project. I want to go back to short stories, though if you think it's hard to put out a book, try doing something with short stories! Send them to literary journals? Oh, what fun. (Not.) Cracking that box is even harder than cracking your knuckles. (I cannot crack my knuckles, much to Ed's dismay.)

As with everything in life right now, I shall take one day at a time. If and when I finish this 495th edit (it seems that it is at least that), I'll let you know and we can celebrate together. I have some sparklers left over from Snowdrop's five and a half year birthday celebration. True, they leave holes in the tablecloth, but I could sparkle them in safer places. I think. And then we can proceed to  champagne. Are we still allowed to drink champagne, or is it off limits, along with every other pleasurable thing in life right now? [The French have been known to laugh at our obsessive study and discussion of the health benefits, or lack thereof, of foods and beverages. Now of course they're laughing less. They just feel sorry for us. They're popping corks while we're stuck at home worrying that the next glass of wine is going to kill us. Imagine, we're worrying about that glass of wine, even as we can't be bothered with face masks and we find it literally impossible to give up visits to water parks or gyms. We are a strange people.]


In the late afternoon, I connect with my two good friends down south.






We talk for a while. Amazing how much can happen when you're just staying home and trying to keep your groceries clean.





Evening. It's quiet, it's beautiful, it's full of day lilies.