And already August is five days old.
This morning, as we sat around the kitchen more or less awake, eating breakfast and discussing today's plans Scott (our brave and fearless leader whether he likes it or not, heaven knows I don’t want the job). Scott looked from his phone to his “In Progress To Do" list, then back to his phone and (in a surprised and irritated voice) said "Are we into August already?"
My feelings exactly.
Because the summer, which began (I feel absolutely certain) but a few days ago is swiftly coming to a close.
School supplies are on the shelves, (that same surprised Scott brought home two bags of paper and notebooks from his market run a few hours after our disorganized morning meeting).
In just a few weeks school will begin again, evening baseball games will have that lovely fall crisp in the air, all those end of the season cliffhangers everyone’s favorite television program left them with late last spring will be at least partially explained (or not), the leaves will begin to change, snow may appear in them there hills, and, when I turn my daytimer page over to September, I will see a note written by me some months back stating:
(I hesitate to add that bossy note also says Bottle (Fruit) Mincemeat.
Obviously I was in a state of optimistic euphoria when I wrote it.)
My Summer 2015 is a blur of rest and recovery, as I knew it would be.
Then, for July, (just to mix it up), I added in a strict writing schedule, and managed to string together a long, long line of 60,000 words during those thirty-one days.
(Which I am currently untangling and rearranging. Tossing out some altogether, adding in a few more.
Yes this is an engrossing, addictive thing. A fun thing.
And no, I’ve no idea why.)
September holds a new holiday to be taken and old traditions to be dusted off and embraced. Fresh goals set and reached toward – stretching ourselves in all sorts of lovely, enjoyable, painful, weird kinda ways.
And yet –
there are twenty-six days left of August, plenty of time, I do believe, to cause myself all sorts of trouble.
(Seriously - the scope of the thing boggles the mind.)
So I take out my August Ideas List (yes I know, but I do have one), search through my desk drawer, my purse, that other purse I took the other day, my messenger bag, and the junk drawer for a pen which actually works (finally finding one in the flower pot painted by a nine year old Coyote and kept on the kitchen table for this express purpose), and get listing.
Feeling certain I can create all sorts of havoc in twenty-six days.
Knowing September won’t creep up on me. Surprising me, leaping out from behind my laptop or beneath my bed as August has.
Nope. I plan to greet next month most happily exhausted.
Ready to bottle up some lovely Fruit Mincemeat.
(And discovering just how to do that is #15 on the August List.)