Could November finally be over? Itís been November again since last weekend, but spring made a surprise reappearance today. The sky, she is blue. Sunlight keeps falling on my head. Itís not exactly summer, but itís a whole lot better than it has been.
Iím not even going to grouse about the wind that whipped through the canyon this afternoon. I wasnít out in it anyway, except to walk out to the mailbox. And on that little trek, the latent puddles under the eucalyptus trees were more of a nuisance than a few leaves blowing around.
If this weather holds, Iíll lose my excuse for neglecting the yard. I had some momentum there, for a few weeks. I was using the weed trimmer during the week and the mower on the weekends. Then it started raining every weekend and I lost what little enthusiasm I had for that kind of labor. Now I need something to get me out of my chair in the afternoons, when Iíd rather be reading.
If I thought I could sell it, that would be my excuse for a lot of my slothful ways. The fact that Iím such a slow reader is the real reason I donít do housework. I could be swabbing out the tub scum or (eck!) dusting the cabinets, if only I didnít have those last hundred pages I wanted to read. And lately Iíve expanded my negligence to the yard. Itís convenient to believe that reading a Maeve Binchy novel is a higher calling than chopping weeds or doing laundry.
That reminds me. I need to do a load of laundry. As soon as I finish this, if I remember by then.