Whenever I finish a book I feel lost, like I'm dangling in space. It's as though an ending has arrived too soon, and it's not until I've connected, really connected, to the next book that I begin to feel found again. Or sometimes, after a particularly good book, I wait a little while before I start another, still tasting and basking in the glow of the now lost world before moving on to the next. Events can be much the same way so when we got back from vacation I was kind of hanging in space, waiting for my wheels to catch on the road to the next thing. I am feeling a little lost. I guess the next big event will be Calvin's birthday in June, or maybe Memorial Day.
In the meantime at least the laundry is getting done and the house put back out of order, because an overly orderly house with a child is about as depressing as the sterile nature of a hospital. Calvin is helping to liven things up by getting out every Lego we own, plus felt, and books, and crayons. It's an improvment. This afternoon he assembled my old medieval castle, then dove into his books to find out what castles in ancient Roman times would have looked like. Perhaps we'll try to design and build one of those next.
And after too many missed opportunities I've taken to leaving the camera by the front window when we are home, big lens attached. And look who we happened to spy today (plus the hummingbird came and sampled from both her own feeder, and the oriole's).
Tomorrow we go to the store to get more oranges for our newest denizen, and we'll go for a walk, we'll read, we'll find the energy for crafts. We can't give into this ennui forever.
