Farmer H is a-grillin' on the back porch. The Pony is a-chillin' on the basement couch. The #1 son is a-millin' around at a graduation party for a classmate. And Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is a-willin' a story to jump fully-formed from the three fragments she has saved in her documents file. Let's just say that three of the four Hillbilly family -illin's have been successful in their endeavors.
Life seriously gets in the way of living. The best intentions are frittered away piecemeal, a laundry load here, a sink of dishes there, a trip to town for the requisite 44 oz Diet Coke, forty-five minutes of prepping vegetables to go with the barbecue, an interlude of Arrested Development with a college-bound boy who will not lay on the couch this way again.
I am in dire need of a cast-iron summer schedule starting next week. An allotted time for everything, and everything done in its allotted time.
The first thing penciled in will be the Diet Coke procurement run.