I love my days at home but don’t always know what to do with them. For the most part it’s not a problem finding something to do. Even with the kids not here and eating most of our meals in the dining hall, I still have dishes in the sink and a dishwasher waiting to be unloaded. I did the top shelf already. There’s really no rush for these things.

Yesterday I was sorting through some piles of clothes. It’s a seasonal chore that must be done where it’s out with the old and in with the new. I have a child who needs to be encouraged every day to change his shirt. He’d wear the same one every day and sometimes does for days at a time. I know he has clothes he just likes certain ones.

There is a growing collection of paper bags in the mudroom waiting for someone to take a trip to Goodwill. A woman has offered to give one or two more plants, and that was last week already. I’ve been trying not to neglect those small connections, as I can sometimes do, from people who seem to be making intentional efforts to touch base.

All in all, I am fond of these summer days. The weeks do not pass by quickly but the months do. I took the paddleboard out for the second day in a row and invited the art teacher to come along. She’s here for the third year in a row leading art camp. Most people I’ve taken have never paddled boarded before. We use it more like a kayak.

A son asked if I could do his laundry and of course I said yes. I’d thought about offering earlier but I’d refrained from saying anything. With a capful of bleach and some detergent they come out ready and good as new. Today I asked a few if they really care about getting mail. They said it’s fine if they don’t but if they do they like getting it.