This is the time of year that I do two things: I make crazy lists and spreadsheets about moving off the grid and disappearing into my solar-powered bunker, and I rebel. I rebel from all the extra noise, be it on-line, like twitter or face book, the noise of the nightly news, and the noise of those little obligations that wear on you, but you really should do.
Like pay bills, and make a copy of your new insurance card for the doctor, or file things.
I rebel because while everyone has been enjoying their summer days and vacations, we have been catering in the heat, in parks, on roof tops. Every. Single. Day. Or if by chance we get a day or two break, the phone seems to ring off the hook.
I'm not complaining. In barbecueville, you take as much as you can muster in the summer months, because the winter is loooong. No matter how loyal your customers may be, people just don't eat as much barbecue in the rain as they do in the sun.
But by mid to late August, I start to lose it, just a little.
I read novels at night until 2am.
I search craigslist and the web for things I don't need.
I write poetry.
And, as you can see, I rebel from my blog. I have about 15 posts stacking up. None finished, but all pretty close. A picture here, a proofread there. I have all sorts of things to tell you about... from pictures of a friend's book launch party, to pork sliders, a smoked trout stuffed with farro recipe, a Salmon Bake I attended, new food poetry Friday posts, my new Big Green Egg....
The list is long and as soon as I get my rebel yell on, or off, I'll get right back to it.
Until then, enjoy the dog days of summer. Keep cool, read good books, and if you are so inclined, pen a few lines of poetry on an envelope from your purse.
My mom-in-law is coming in less than two days. I really should deep clean the bathroom, but The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society is calling me. Sigh. I think I'll just read a little bit first. Anyone buy that?
I wouldn't come over tomorrow if I were you. I have a feeling I'm going to be speed cleaning like a madwoman. The kind that might wind up in a solar-powered bunker if she doesn't get a little down time soon. Wish me luck.