September arrived and left me in its wake. September is a hurry month. Everything comes in a crush in September. We arrive back from an August vacation. There's a pile of things to do at work. The pile of dirty laundry is insurmountable. There's a pile of bills and paperwork on my desk. School starts. There's shopping to be done. The dog needs a bath. Softball starts up again. Before long, any wisp of a vacation calm is lost. This year, though, I've kind of whipped the final days of September into shape. I took a pick axe to those piles and chiseled them down to size. It's a Saturday morning and I'm luxuriating in the weekend possibilities as if time and errands have no meaning. It's a cool, fresh morning and in a moment, I have to rush away to take P to softball practice. But for this iota of a moment, I have all the time in the world and I'm filling it with ideas of things I'd most like to do outside in the garden. Arugula. I want to plant some arugula and see if I can't squeak out a few more weeks of growth out there. I want to weed. I usually hate that. But something deep in my soul is fostering a need to bring order to chaos. I am born to putter. The Putterer
