Afternoon

The sky dims as I sit at the table. Children have dragged cushions off of the couch, crib mattresses into the living room, and are bouncing and singing to their hears' content. This is new: a neighbor over without parents, Eden and Silas's friend-dynamic in the mix of a social setting. New.

I read a chapter in Walking in this World (mediocre overall) that said something to the effect of -- before you try to tackle your big creative projects, knock out the nagging tasks on your list -- repaint the drawer, put the laundry away, finally file the bills, run to the post office, hang that curtain -- because completing the small things will help you respect yourself and get ready for the larger ones. That was the part I liked best, the self-respect. We all walk around with huge to-do lists, some of the items important and some not, but the motivation for completing our tasks being to treat ourselves well, that I like.

Today was a day of doing errands that have sat near the front door for days -- returns, post office mailings, thank you notes, the car wash (that didn't sit by the door) etc. And rather than swelling self-respect, I instead see the larger list of to-do's. But we will get there.

We are settled in the house. It looks and feels like we live here, for the most part. There are bare walls places and the kids are sleeping on mattresses, but much is settled-ish. And the space becomes more familiar. It would be easy to stop here, to stop seeing the pull-down shades from the 1970's that are cracking at the bottom and remember we'd like to finish the job.

For days the air has blown in dry and gusty from the desert. The kids have dressed in mud more than once (we now are putting "mud days" on the calendar so they aren't EVERY day -- rough on the single bathroom -- until we build and outdoor shower, and clearly when I say "we" here, I mean Ben. Thanks, Ben).

The white evening sky yellows and pink-ens at its hem; time to make pasta with pesto. I wish it were tomato season. Soon enough, if not too soon.