Oh, right: It's Saturday. Admittedly, I don't have much of a life anymore. If you're bored by all this, or crave some Possum news, let me know.
Once again, I didn't leave the house today, although I feel like I just spent 12 hours in an 18th-century parlor in Portsmouth. I mean, I really feel like I was in there. Writing about this stuff may be exhausting, but it feeds the imagination so wonderfully that one seldom feels the pain. Even when it's real: my legs and back are sore from sitting for so long.
I just completed my quota for the week and will try to enjoy a blessed day off tomorrow. I'll try to do a week's worth of cleaning, exercise, and errands. It's looking like I'm going to miss the whole month of May. Please send me photos of the outdoors, so I remember what it looks like.
We're also going take my mother-in-law to her favorite Italian hole-in-the-wall for Mother's Day dinner, accompanied by my charming nephew. (I'm breaking my rule of never eating out on Sunday nights, because it's the chef's time off.) If you have a mother, I hope you are doing something similar, and if you don't, please find an old lady and be nice to her.
I miss my mother. She's been gone eight years now. But when the phone rings on Sunday mornings, I still think it's her. I hope that one of these days it is. We have a lot of catch up on. She was my best friend and she first taught me to write persuasively and clearly. And to remember to use my brain. And sit up straight. If only she'd taught me how not to miss her quite so much.