Recycling Joy and Dust

With my new found transmit energy, I'm tackling the dust, washing the cat and dog hair off the couch cover, washing three pairs of sneakers a friend gave me, and dismantling the mountain of cardboard boxes: 18 years worth, piled up in the cellar. Dust city! Eventually, God and dog willing, I must tackle the teetering paper stacks in my studio it is now a health and safety hazard.

I dug out my little red wagon from underneath the boxes. It is a wooden wagon with detachable sides for grocery shopping or attaching Lily to haul stuff - a joke. This wagon is just like the one I sent my brother down the driveway in, when he was two and a half and I was seven. He turned at the bottom of the hill and hit gravel. He got a weensy cut over his top lip the size of an ant, in the shape of a musical rest. I am forever blamed for his cosmetic imperfection and it went on my permanent record. When my mother introduced me to his girlfriend, she said "Oh, she's the one who gave Peter the scar above his lip".

I'm baking pumpkin breads for neighbors - new and old, cleaning the crumb tray in the toaster, vacuuming the dog hair. This is what shrinking daylight does to me.