So, I'm revving up for my day by sitting on my back porch with my coffee, my laptop, my phone, and my book, listening to the rain and thinking that it's probably not a good day for mowing the lawn, when suddenly one of the loudest cracks of thunder I ever heard makes me actually crouch down in fear. It was very exciting.
I love storms. When I was little, my maternal grandmother and I used to sit on her screened-in back porch in Ohio to watch storms, the bigger the better. I think I even remember her talking about watching a tornado from the porch swing once. This trait must skip a generation, though, because my mother won't even stand near a window or a doorway lest she be struck by lightening. To give her credit, her precautions seem to have worked. She has not ever been struck by lightening.
Now it's still raining but the thunder isn't nearly as exciting. Oh well. So what should I write about? I recently learned that it's dangerous to go around talking about not having much (or anything) to do all day, because people will try to give you things to do. I should have remembered this lesson from all my childhood summers. My siblings and I learned early that if a child complained about not having anything to do, that child would first be given a lecture about how intelligent children are never bored, and then be given a chore.
So, for the record, I am not at all bored. I am very busy. There has been all the backporch sitting/coffee drinking/reading/FB-Scrabble-playing to take care of, and then not long ago Roger called and made me walk about twelve feet into the dining room to check which kind of ink cartridge his printer uses. Soon I will go upstairs to take a shower...the list goes on. My big job today is to make a strawberry-rhubarb pie. It's a frickin' rat race around here.