Things are pretty crazy around here.
I’m dog sitting a very cute puppy named Bailey this week, interviewing three potential employees, and joined a women’s weight training class.
On Monday, Kris and I started the detox program…no alcohol, no caffeine…eating vegetarian organic food. We may be hopeless.Kris called me from the aiport today to ask if Starbuck’s scones were organic. Yeah, right!
My phone revolted after being dropped so many times. I have a new basic phone that I really like…no bells and whistles that I don’t know how to use…no camera that takes sinfully bad photos. But I lost many phone numbers that I use all the time. Foolish me for trusting that thing.
I haven’t returned the phone calls of friends and now it’s too late in the day. This is the poem for tomorrow’s Writer’s Almanac and it hit home. Doesn’t this apply to the way we run around? How do I get off this merry-go-round?
A Time to Talk
“When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don’t stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven’t hoed,
And shout from where I am, ‘What is it?’
No, not as there is a time to talk.
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.”