Der Bingle mentioned last night he had checked “the cow” and found nothing. I didn’t notice it myself because I was not at the cow, but since I knew I wasn’t at the cow, I did know he was right.

I have been here and there, peering into paint cans and standing out of range while Summer spray-painted the old pump red.  Paint has dripped on me from kitchen walls, hall walls and bathroom walls . . . and I have scrubbed (I love you latex) paint from floors and counters. Soon, I am going to do another scrubbing of me. I have run to the stores, taken Alison to work, stopped at Redboxes, hunted for lost shoes, stomped trash, set mousetraps in the fruit cellar, retrieved and reset mousetraps in the fruit cellar . . . come out to do some things on the porch and found  refugees here, asking sanctuary.

Yesterday, I was tapped not only to take Summer to the dentist, but to convince her she should go. I did the latter by talking to her through a locked door. So, eventually,  we’re there – at the dentist we share – and while waiting for her to numb, he talked to me about this and that and, oh, by the way, are you writing?

Well, no . . . just on this little blog I have. He mentions these grandchildren and I say, well, yes, it seems my time is nickeled and dimed.

And while I have been writing this, Alison has been standing here on the porch, talking to me constantly, phrasing her words so I have to at least nod at intervals.

And, yes, well, yes . . . I am complaining.