Woke this morning a tad melancholic, which would make me angry if I let it, since I have no truly legitimate reason to be either melancholic or angry, but it happens sometimes. One reason: I didn't have a good dinner last night, nor much of a lunch yesterday. And then I had a dream where I was living in Pasadena again, with Carey. It was a nighttime dream, which is an atmospheric occurrence used by my subconscious to reinforce a certain dismal sense. In the dream, I was happy to see all my old friends I hadn't seen in years, but I found I missed my kids and my wife. There are stages in life, that is known, but if you live correctly the latter stages improve the perspective, and the thought of turning back reaches an absurd height.

Not that I was thinking of turning back. It was just a dream; dark, distant, depressing, and today I go back out to Ramona where it's supposed to be in the 90s again, and that is nothing to be cheery about. So now what? Have a hearty breakfast, and git her done! Git on with it!

Also missed my run this morning and yesterday, due to extenuating (and otherwise prolonged) obligations. Must stay on target, and not get tempted with a distraction. Must arrange goals in a hierarchy of importance, so as not to get sidetracked. Must not quit, so as... to not be a quitter, I guess.

This is all hard with a family, who have goals of their own. As well it's hard with all those necessary daily achievements; find work, do work, make money, pay bills. I'm amazed the Little Digger is nine months old and getting ready to walk. Nine months before that he was nowhere to be found, and could hardly be imagined. What happened here? Where did it all go? Where was I?

He's the greatest. Yesterday we were in the kitchen and I went to hug Mrs. Ditchman. No good reason, really, except the obvious (I love her.) We were standing there, arms around each other, and we looked over at the boy in his high chair who was just watching us. He had a big smile on his face, like he was just happy to see his parents hugging. So sometimes, when you hug your wife, it's nice to have that outside encouragement, (because we all know that sometimes it can be difficult to hug your wife.)

And this recent blogging has been just terrible, dumb reading. Started out so strong at the beginning of the year, and now I'm just phoning it in (sometimes literally.) It's easy to write, but it's difficult to write well, (and who says I've ever achieved the latter?) It takes time, and commitment. Like a family. Like a garden.

And I've felt that the garden is something of a failure again this year, sorry to say. It's been so hot, and there's the ongoing drought concerns, so I just let it all fall down the hierarchy of family needs. Makes me sad to see those empty garden boxes out there, with all their inherent potential. But I do have the Great Pumpkins, and I did get some flowers planted around the pond a while back. I was doing my end-of-the-day garden round last Friday, all hangdog and self-pitiful and feeling sorry for being responsible for all that dried, cracked earth, and then I took a step back and noticed something: that middle section around the pond really looks nice. There were a few pretty yellow water lillies, some hyacinth, and the goldfish were still alive. Sometimes you just get so headlong into your life's work, that it doesn't occur to you to perform the simple act of lifting your head to see what the whole point of it all is.




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