I have not done one of these rambles for a while. Or much of any writing at all, for that matter. I won’t bore you with the details. I’m sure you’ve suffered through similar dry spells yourself. Every writer has. And if there is a writer who hasn’t, we all hate that writer. Stop showing off! It’s bad enough that we struggle to write … we don’t need to be scoreboarded, too.
Today, as the title implies, is Saturday. It is a nice pre-autumn day. By that I mean the thermometer is well below the normal temperature of a hundred degrees (~ 37C) and is a much more reasonable 82 (28 C). However, it is still nice and toasty outside if someone were to do something foolhardy like, say, mow the yard. It’s the kind of day where you can sunburn very easily because it doesn’t feel so very hot, but the sun is beating down directly on you from a sneaky angle that lulls you into lowering your guard (and sunblock) for awhile. Next thing you know … BAM! … you look like a lobster.
But I haven’t been outside much today, so I am safe from the wiles, seductions, and charms of the sun.
However, even as I write this, the suburban air outside is filled with the sounds of lawnmowers, leaf blowers, hedge trimmers, and electric edgers. It is like living at an air port consisting of tiny little gas-powered airplanes that are constantly taking off, landing, and doing fly-bys. But I will not be shamed into mowing my yard today. I mowed it last week and it has had the decency to not grow at all since then. I would go outside and thank it, but I don’t like to encourage it. Profuse praise is a form of fertilizer.
I’d like to write more, but every blogging how-to article I’ve read said to keep things short and pithy. People don’t want seven course meals any more. They want fun-sized Snickers® bars.
Here … have a Snickers® bar.