Wednesday�s child is full of woe. That�s me!

Being Wednesday, I was gathering up the recycling as the truck was making its way down the street, again! Why do I never remember to put out the recycling the night before? Why am I the only one in this house who even thinks about it? Is there some unwritten rule that Elgan shall be the gatherer of recycling and garbage to deposit at the end of the driveway still in her jammies and bathrobe on Wednesday mornings because the rest of her family are slothful and indolent and short on memory and long on laziness? Okay, I did get Buddy Boy to gather up the garbage and put it out, but I had to remind him because I heard the garbage truck coming up the street. There is something so incredibly typical about this picture.

There was a thunderstorm this afternoon, which was a great excuse to unplug the computers (I do not trust surge-suppressors when lightening hits) and I just lay on my bed and read a very strange story about a man who ends up embedded in the living membrane of some cave after he�s experienced a drugging and involuntary trepanning, and yet somehow is telling the story in the first person and we are reading it. I always find those very disturbing.

Now it is suppertime. Buddy Boy has gone to karate (where his sister went after work, but she�s going to a concert tonight at Lac des Nations where she will see a fantastic display of fireworks as part of the international festival they hold there every year, lucky girl) and Hubby has gone off to play tennis, so I am at a bit of a loss, being hungry, but not really wanting to eat alone. I guess I can prepare something and wait for my menfolk to arrive, but that will be around 8 p.m. How hungry am I?

Anyway, the sun is out now, the birds are singing, there is a gentle breeze (very gentle, I can barely see the leaves moving) playing across the tops of the trees and it is this weather, exactly as it is right now, that we pray and hope for six months of the year. Sigh. Summer, like youth and beauty, is fleeting.

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