It’s Always Something

For some reason, my pingback isn’t pinging back, so this isn’t appearing in the big list of daily prompts. No reason I can figure. I do this every day and this ought to work. But it’s always something, isn’t it.

These lazy “just write and don’t think posts” amuse me. I write every morning. That’s what I do every day, unless I’m sick or traveling. I sit down and write. What do other people do, I wonder? The whole point of a prompt is to direct the writing, to send it in a direction, so to be told to “just write” is sort of funny. I don’t need a prompt for that, you know? I’m a writer. I will write anyhow.


Today we are in full “getting ready to go on vacation mode.” There are dozens of small things to take care of.

Extra dog food to buy.

Call the well guy so he knows we’ll be gone, make sure he has Owen’s number. We’ll pay him when we get home. Decide what we are taking. Not just clothing, but things. All the cameras, of course, The laptops. The Kindles. The tooth machine. What, you don’t take your tooth cleaning machine on vacation?

Conversation With Dave the Well Guy

Ring. Ring.


“Hi. It’s Dave.”

“Oh, hi Dave. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. I just wanted to remind you we are going to be out-of-town from Sunday through next weekend. Owen will be here, so he can take care of anything you need. Except money. I won’t be able to pay you till we get back.”

“No problem. I know where you live. You’re not going anywhere and I don’t think you’ll spend ALL your money on vacation.” I flash on Jackman, where other than a tee-shirt and souvenir shop, there is nowhere to spend money even if we had money to spend, which we don’t.

“No, the money is tucked safely in our savings account so it won’t get accidentally spent on groceries.” Or other frivolities, I think to myself.

“No problem. We’ll get it done.”

That’s a country contract, folks. That’s how we do it, out here. No paper. Nothing in writing. Just an agreement, on the phone.

“You have Owen’s number?”

“I have it somewhere. Maybe you should give it to me again.” I do. He writes it on another slip of paper that as likely as not, he will lose … but he knows where we live and if worse comes to worse, he can track my son down. They know each other. It’s a small town.

Back to the Rest of Reality

The rice cooker. I’m going to bring it. For years I cooked rice without a special machine, but it’s been 15 years since I prepared rice without a rice cooker, so Garry says “just take the cooker.” It seems an embarrassment of riches, but I’m going to do it anyway.

Get the oil changed in the car.

Take cash out of the bank. Pack the laundry in a big trash bag and take it along because there’s a washer and dryer at the house. Don’t forget the special shampoo you need. Make sure we have all the phone numbers and papers we need. Directions. Do we want to take our pillows? Last time, we took them … and forgot them and had to buy new ones.

Worry about the dogs. Worry about everything because I worry. If I worry about it, maybe I can prevent it from happening. Worry as a ward against bad luck? I don’t think so. Charge the Kindles. Pack all the battery chargers for the cameras. Why does each camera require a different battery? Why can’t they standardize something? Batteries would seem a good place to start, don’t you think?

That’s what’s on my mind. Add it wondering what the weather will be like in Maine. I’m assuming a bit colder than here, though according to Wunderground, not much different … a few degrees at most.

Feeling uneasy about going away before resolving the well crisis … but we planned this a year ago and we either go, or lose the vacation. There’s no real reason to stay here and babysit our crisis, is there? Crises do just fine without a babysitter.

Ten minutes. I’m done. Back to sipping coffee. The leaves are still golden, even in the drizzly rain. Another day has begun.

Ready, Set, Done – Daily Prompt


First, a little music … Edith Piaf and Yves Montand singing Autumn Leaves. Just for you. Why does everything sound better in French?



The Mumford is barely a trickle of its former self, but it’s still beautiful. The trees are turning, brighter every day.

foliage on the Mumson

The leaves reflect in the water and the sky is cloudless and blue. Autumn is our best season, when New England takes her fanciest clothing out of storage and steps out. The trees and the grasses glow with color. The air is amber and everything is beautiful.This is the season I wait for.

I hope it’s a great one. An epic Autumn.


May it rain every night, but clear by morning.