More moving story this weekend, it seems like.
This week, I am looking after my parents' elderly dog.
I live in terror that this dog will pee in the house, which means I don't sleep much, because every time she turns over in the night, I jump up to let her out, regardless of what time it is or whether she wants to go out.
I don't know what I'm so worried about; she pees in the house anyway, usually between 5:30 and 7 a.m., and always on the easy-to-clean kitchen floor.
During some of my late-night adventures sitting on the deck while the dog stumbles, bewildered, around the yard, I have become aware that real summer is here. Saw my first fireflies the other night, and my first shooting star. (Yes, I made a wish. No, it hasn't come true yet.)
And those little "welcome to summer" moments have started coming faster and faster: Sunday, I turned on the air conditioner. I bought a zucchini this afternoon. And earlier tonight we had a perfect trio of firsts-of-the-season: first bats while I ate my first hobo stew from the new grill and watched the kids next door run around their yard in their pajamas with sparklers.