Mayday! Mayday!

You might notice some changes around here.  The host server that I’ve used for nine years has closed up shop, so I had to figure out a solution.  Everything is still here–some images need to be fixed–but the blog goes on!  I started blogging twelve years ago, if you can believe that.

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I keep forgetting what season it is.  The hot weather feels like summer.  For some reason, my brain thinks it’s spring.  I have some fall decor around my house but I can’t even accept the idea that next month is Thanksgiving.  It’s hard to think about pumpkin pie when you’re sweating and wearing capri pants.

I’m going to blame the spate of flies in my house on the weather.  Ever since my daughter and I returned from Washington in August, I’ve noticed more black houseflies than we’ve ever had before.  I don’t know where they are coming from but I have resorted to killing them with my bare hands when necessary.  The summer fruit flies have given way to these stupid big houseflies.  We need a good hard freeze to kill all these pests–though that will never happen here.

The kids are already in the middle of their first semesters, taking mid-terms and preparing for parent-teacher conferences.  I’m starting to dread my son’s high school graduation in May because that means he is one step closer to leaving home.  His plan at this point is to move to Texas.  (He wants to attend Texas A & M.)  I keep thinking, “Next year at this time . . . ” and then I have to change the subject in my head because I can’t even finish that thought.

Do you even fully understand how quickly May will arrive?  May will be here in approximately seventeen minutes.  May will swoop in like an owl snatching a field mouse.  May will sprint toward the finish line without looking over its shoulder.  May will be the Express Bus, the quick-rise yeast, the 15-items or less check-out lane.

I know it’s the right thing.  Kids are meant to shrug off their homes and stride into the big wide world without looking back, but oh, the space isn’t even empty yet and all I can hear is the echo of the silence in his room.

And possibly the irritating buzz of a housefly I have yet to smash.