It's a hot muggy day this Sunday morning on my back deck.
My lovely wife Darlene is sitting beside me reading another one of her fantasy books. She seems to like vampires a lot lately. I hope she's not turning goth on me.
My black lab Suzy is sitting by the door, watching the girls play with the kitty's in the living room, wanting so bad to go chase those cats away from her girls and get all the attention that the girls are pouring on the young felines.
Pat Caputo is on the radio – preaching cautious expectations to Detroit Lions fans who are starting to get excited about the hype the Lions sprew out before the first preseason game. And Pat is trying so hard to get the fans to not panic about the Tigers after losing eleven to nothing to American League Central division rivals – the Minnesota Twins.
These radio debates will continue until one o'clock – when the Tigers final game against those dastardly Twinkies begins – and all our household attention will turn to this hopefully epic battle. An epic battle that hopefully the Tigers will triumph in the end.
It rained all day yesterday. A good hard downpour – so the air is thick with the mugginess of the resulting damp covering everything on the property.
The pool is full of leaves, and needs to be vacuumed – because on a muggy day like today – we are going to want to listen to the ballgame from the comfort of the pool.
The grass grew an extra foot after that warm summer monsoon – and the weeds in the garden popped up out of nowhere. There is some yard maintenance to be dealt with.
This is my final day off – my third week of vacation for the summer coming to an end. And tomorrow I will find myself back at my desk and dealing with the projects I left behind ten days ago – and the urgen matters that may have arisen in my absence.
And I'm kind of looking forward to the return to my regular schedule.
I have been far to lethargic over this last week of vacation. My lovely wife Darlene has been quick to remind me of my accelerated advancement in the art of procrastination – and I certainly am in no position to deny here accusations.
I have been a lazy bum.
Procrastination is an art form. Truly it is best applied when you can still achieve your objectives without people realizing you have been putting them off. The masterful procrastinator will at some point finally rise to the task – exposing the timing of their activity to be the perfect moment – the moment waited for to achieve the optimum result of their efforts.
But I have not risen – and the optimum moment has now passed me by.
There are a lot of bloody leaves to haul out of that pool – although the water is indeed crystal clear.
That grass is really quite high now – bending over in the middle as though an uncared for part of farmland.
And it is muggy.
I was just about to explain to my lovely warden of my personal life that it is still too wet to cut this overgrown meadow that used to be my yard – but as I started to defend myself – the unmistakable whirr of a neighboring lawn more was heard over a distance backyard fence.
Drat that evil motivated self-proclaimed landscaper – and his mowing machine that can start on the first pull of the rip cord. Shouldn't he be at church right now?
But my lovely wife Darlene is still entrenched in her novel. She seems to still be content to let me sit and enter these words on this page.
So far – so good. And I still have an hour and forty-five minutes left before the game begins.
I can do the grass and the pool in an hour and three quarters. I can still pull off this masterful achievement of elevated procrastination. Because the right moment has arrived. And if I am to remain in any good level of respectability with the females masters of my world – I have to act now.
The time is right. The motivation is here.
But the coffee is good, and I could maybe have one more smoke and listen to Caputo debate likely hood of the Lions winning more than four games this fall.
And then I will jump right up and get this stuff done.
The moment will last.
But will my lovely wife Darlene's patience?