Bittersweet Musings (#1a)

I will keep this post short, and bittersweet. Back in January of this year I made a difficult decision: I was no longer going to volunteer at my daughters' dance studio. This past week, I tied up all loose ends. And that included a final solo visit to the storage unit. 

[Addendum: It is not short, and more bitter than sweet. However, it is lyrical, and, if you read it carefully, you may detect the sweetness. Maybe.]

Confessions (#13)

Sigh. It is the middle of June. This is my garden. That tall, green thing is a lettuce plant. It has grown from seeds I put in the ground a year ago. At the beginning of the pandemic. Now, it has decided to grow. And I have done nothing to take care of it. Nor have I decided to harvest it when it would have been at its tastiest. Most of the leaves are now bitter.

It is a metaphor. 

However, so is the fact that it is still the middle of June, and most of my garden has been cleared away--except for the grass. If I act this week, I can still get some good harvests before the summer ends. Especially of cucumbers. So I can make my pickles. Which would make me very happy. 

Again, all this is a metaphor.

Meandering Thoughts (#9)

Yet, again, I am not going to write what I intended to say, because I did not take the time to plan it all out. The subject matter is complex; my skills, not quite up to the task. It would require several drafts, maybe even a few rewrites, in order to get my thoughts across cohesively. Otherwise, my words would have been a hot mess: an incomprehensible rant of a middle-aged man.   

Sigh. I procrastinated, and with only one hour to put something together, the following is the result. 

(Actually, I have wasted another ten minutes since typing that last line. So, fifty minutes to go.)

(Yes, I am recycling this image. Not just because I have run out of time, and need something. But also, it is a good metaphor for my current situation. However, I can't decide if I'm the girl, and the boy is Procrastination. Or, I am the boy, and the girl is you, the reader. BTW, it is a Norman Rockwell painting.)