Without A Vine

If I ever finish this yard work, Tarzan won’t have a vine to swing on.

After working on the Stacy Letters from 3 to 6:30 a.m. and packing Ginny’s lunch, I again devoted the day to cleaning our yard and pool. Normally, edging and mowing the yard takes me about six hours. But having let things go all winter, I now find the job overwhelming. However, once this initial cleanup is done, it will just be a matter of maintaining things.

Of course, the more I do, the more I see needs doing.

I have to know when to say “good enough”. Stephen King remarked somewhere that it’s possible for a writer to spend his whole life doing his laundry!

I finds the compulsion to get things “just right” is a satanic obsession to avoid writing.

Talked with C. et al again this afternoon about our new neighbor. We’ll see what develops. Even sexual predators need to live somewhere. But this guy is likely to find himself in a goldfish bowl. Several neighbors have already made sure the police are very aware of his presence.

While Ginny washed her beautiful hair this evening, I browsed through blogs linked to Donald’s site. I blundered into an aspiring writer’s entries and composed an encouraging comment for her but afterwards I found that you have to register with the web server to post a comment. I wish they’d told me that before I wrote the letter.

Barbara called in a panic this afternoon because of a computer problem. I talked her through it even though I feel I know nothing about computers (you punch the key and sometimes something happens — maybe).

She’s contacted a master gardener to help her with her flowers; I’m relieved because it’s such a grueling trip over to that side of town. Of course, if the master gardener does not work out for her, I’ll go over with my weed eater.