Feeling low. Feeling slow. Having made the difficult decision to let go of the Rancho, I am anxious for the process to be done. All over. Behind us. We are living here as though we don't actually live here; everything has to be kept in a constant state of *Showcase.* Yesterday an agent came to see the house, and today two more prospective buyers want to have a look around. It's no fun convincing three boys to leave every pillow and sock in its place, to wipe up, clear out, and lay low. And it's even less fun to realize that this may have to be our mode for living for many months, or longer. What grief we are able to bring upon our heads.
I sat in front of the television yesterday. Oprah was visiting her father's neighborhood in Tennessee. For amusement she went knocking on his neighbor's doors, with the hope of discovering what they were fixing for dinner; comfort food and home cooking seemed to be the show's theme. She startled a few families, but she finally found one home where there was a good deal of cooking going on. Incidentally, I'm not going anywhere with this...but I did wonder what I would do if Oprah were at my door, and asking 'what's for dinner?'
I think more rain would do me good.