Things to do.

Today is the day I'll change out my sheets for flannel; not the comforter cover just yet, but the bottom sheet for sure and never the pillow cases. I really don't like flannel pillow cases. I'll wonder when it will be too cool to dry my clothes on the line. I will eat some of the bread I got from the local bakery and I'll cook up the many tomatoes that came from a local farm; tomatoes, basil and garlic for a red sauce that I will use and freeze. I'll take my morning meds, drink my tea, write, and I'll cry when I dust around the box of my beloved Big Dog Ruby's ashes. I always do. I'll go to the dump with my recycling and garbage, get a permit for gathering wood (as in trees, not sticks) for my winter heat, check my post office box. I'll tell myself I really should watch the Netflix I've had sitting around for quite awhile now (Nurse Jackie episodes), but I won't, preferring to read, write, get some good sleep before tomorrow's event, the Tioga Pass Run. I'll try to finish the peanut butter that's lost it's oil and is almost impossible to spread, I'll pay the rest of my monthly bills and write to my landlord about getting the chimney swept. I'll take the dogs on a good hike somewhere where they can run and swim and where my phone works (I'm still on call); I'll continue my new habit of exploring some of the tributaries to one of the lakes I visit regularly. I'll think about the woman I saw yesterday who surprised herself by telling a story about a time she was in prison to the group I was facilitating; I'll remember the look on her face when she realized she was talking to her neighbor and best friend's sister (it's a really small town) and felt exposed, psychically naked, and then pleaded for everyone to keep her confidence. I'll remember thinking how very few of us really keep these things to ourselves and how I have been trying to figure out how to write about confidentiality, belonging and gossip. I'll decide to wash the dog beds tomorrow, and will periodically look out my back windows for the bear we've had visiting the last couple of weeks. I'll wish I'd already written the card to my sister that I have been working on, make some of the phone calls I have been putting off, talk to my partner about the "tomato class" she went to. I'll read various accounts about 9/11 and get choked up when I see the photos of people grieving; I'll remember how hopeful I felt about our chance, as a nation, to set an example when the rest of the world opened it's arms and hearts to us. I'll feel self conscious about writing this and relieved for having done so. I'll fold my laundry, finally put away my duffel from my trip to Santa Cruz last week, make a play list for the Tioga walk. Always, I'll have some music in my day and I'll watch how I still remember playing certain songs on the radio when I was a dj or feel the power of a good harmony. I'll be excited about camping next weekend, daunted by how quickly it's cooling down, will look for my slippers. I'll remember how, just after 9/11, JT and I had to figure out what songs to play on the air for our weekday radio show and how she selected, "It's A Wonderful World," by Louis Armstrong, for the first song to play after the news and how I felt deep respect for her at that moment; I'll remember how hard we worked during that period of time to bring different voices to the air and how we received threats after interviewing a Muslim woman about the true nature of the Qur'an. I'll think about how ridiculous people are and how much I believe in our humanity. I'll wash my dishes, put lotion on my dry hands, wonder when my dead toenail will finally fall off. I'll pet my dogs, give them treats, vacuum their hair from the carpet. I'll feel my throat swell up with tears of gratitude, check my Facebook page, take photos for my (other) blog. I'll be glad you are there, happy to hear Erica's voice, pick up some litter along the trail, forget to eat lunch.

All in a day's work.