I know there’s an astronomical explanation for why this time of year is called “the dog days of summer”, but looking out my back porch, watching our dogs Snoopy and Shadow loll around under the table, avoiding the 100 degree heat by drooling, I have decided i much prefer the more prosaic, and commonly held, reason for the name.
Just a week before everyone in my house goes back to school in some form or another. My daughter starts fourth grade, my son Kindgergarten, my wife back to her full-time job at the county office of education, me to continue the job hunt, to write, and attend night classes. I’ll be glad of the structure and solitude, but it’s going to be a crazy few months. These last lazy weeks are both a blessing and an uncomfortable reminder of what we’ll be giving up soon, sort of like Sunday is every week.
So, for now, I’m just working, trying to get ahead a little on Mere Mortals, working on the development of a couple of novels. I’m a few chapters in on one, but another has been insistently tapping my shoulder for a while, begging for attention like a five-year-old, who just has to show me the “coolest thing every you have to see it can I have it please, please, please!” (This I know from experience).
On top of all this, we have to sort through all of our junk in storage and find out which of it we can safely discard. A lot of it I’m tempted to put up on ebay, just to see, or donate to charity, but frankly, that all sounds a lot of work, and I’m not sure I have enough energy to do the right thing right now.
We’ll see what happens.