The "Getting Ready to Go" Part

Tom Petty may have wailed that "the waiting is the hardest part," but I'm not so sure. I think the week or so leading up to a trip (be that trip pure vacation or work/conference) is the hardest part. Right now, I'm several days out from leaving for what promises to be a blissful honeymoon with my, well, my honey and the days whipsaw from almost manageable with loads of lists to just out and out crazy-busy.

There's a reason. There always is, I suppose. When we return, I'll only have a week before fall classes start, so I'm trying to get everything as ready as it can be. My school is also in the throes of pre-registration in an economy that would have Adam Smith saving money in a sock. Funds had been earmarked for some badly-needed renovation, so the halls are stacked with furniture while the floors of classrooms are re-done with more durable tile. I still have one writing project to edit into shape and send off. And there are a myriad of little things hither and yon that can look terribly important if you only glance in that direction instead of keeping your focus.

Which I haven't done too well lately.

I hate being worn out like this.

But this cheered me up. Twilight crossed with a delectable Southern picnic. Yum!

Enjoy!

Where's That Alligator Float?

Lo, and the shimmering beach is beckoning, for the delayed honeymoon is quickly approaching!

When FryDaddy and I made the decision to enter into the exalted state of matrimony late this spring, we knew the traditional wedding trip would have to be put off somewhat. We went away for the wedding night to a bed & breakfast just up the road (and liked it so much that we booked for our one-year anniversary before we left!) but decided that a longer, "just us" trip would need to wait until the end of July when I was done teaching and his fall plans had solidified and a whopping chunk of time could be taken off. We laboriously saved for more than a year to be sure we could do whatever we wanted to do without breaking out credit cards, which I must sadly admit is a bit unnatural to me.

But - O frabjous day! Callooh, callay! That day is nearly here!

While I haven't started packing just yet, trust me - I've started figuring out what I want to take. We're both total book geeks, so we will both take pounds of books with us and return with yet more pounds of books (there's this great little used book store that's our version of a secret stash. I'd tell you more, but then extreme measures would have to be taken). I'm hoping to finish what I'm reading now before I go - it's the end of a hard SF trilogy by Peter Watts that's been patiently waiting for me for months as I worked on other tasks. Solid writing, but far from a usual "beach read." Although, now that I think about it, I started it in a laundromat down at the beach way back when, so perhaps I should revise my remarks. And I hope to take a variety of books with me. Don't bother to tell me, "Why Mockingbird, what are you doing, taking books on your honeymoon?" We're book people. It's what we do, but I solemnly promise that it's not all we do. And that's enough on that topic.

Sun, sand, the ability to pay as we go, and large parcels of time spent alone with my tall, handsome, bookish, funny, curious husband.

Looks pretty good to me!

Inside Pruning

There comes the day when you wake up and say, "Well - how did I get here?"

(Apologies to the Talking Heads.)

But it's true - one day, you look around the house and go to bed thinking, "Hmm. I could really stand to do some work around the house." And that continues until the day you wake up the next morning and look around the house and say, "Dear heaven, no decent person would live like this!"

I'm nearly there.

I'm not a hoarder - well, certainly not in the pathological, let's-have-a-show-on-A&E-which-by-the-way-has-next-to-nothing-relevant-to-either-arts-or-entertainment-anymore sort of way. But I am a stacker of clutter and I've reached the point of needing to be willing to take a long, hard look at myself and say, "Self, the stacks are out of control. Time to sort, straighten, and yes, toss."

This is one (of the many) reasons I'm not such a hotshot gardener - I don't like to prune things back. I know it's for the long-term good, but I have a hard time with it.

But I just don't need two dozen butter tubs, even if they are clean and perfectly useful for - well, for something. So they've gotta go!

Wish me luck.