An irresistible compulsion to return home. So says dictionary.com. I experienced a little of that last weekend. Firstborn leaned over to me during church and murmured, "do I have to go home?" I was right there with her.
I could move back to Fredericksburg after retirement. For at least part of the year anyway. Spring in Fbg. Summer in Taos. Fall in ... New England? (Don't know. Haven't been. It's on the list.) Winter in Galveston. Sounds like a well-rounded year to me.
The stripes are up on the living room walls. Tonight I put two coats of paint on the brackets. I'll put on another coat in the morning when I wake up and maybe a fourth before leaving for work. By bedtime, that part ought to be done. I've pulled up almost a third of the tack strips. And worked a centimeter of Temperance's sleeve. And put Grace's new wig on her.
Had a good day at work. 37 emails waiting for me, all of them dealt with and more that followed. Three days' mail wrangled. My to-do's worked. I was steadily busy all day but not snowed under. Loved it.
And now I'm at the point where I'm dozing off mid-sentence, which suggests it might be time to go to bed. Night, y'all.
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