1 p.m. Father's Day. Gift to myself: a new power washer. There's something amazing about a high pressure machine to clean every last bit of the backyard pavers and deck. It's like cleaning your physical soul. I tend to do this barefoot, just because there's something about walking around without shoes on when the sun is out and the pavers are warm.
This is not to be taken lightly. A few years ago, with my old power washer, I forgot that the water comes out at an astonishing rate of speed. My feet were hot and I sprayed my left foot down with the power washer. Well, that was dumb. I sliced open the top of my foot like I'd used a butcher knife.
I am happy to report that my new power washer has far more power. And when I took it out for a test drive yesterday, blasting every last bit of dog pee off the pavers, I also managed to avoid cutting off my foot. For these small things we give thanks.
Then it was 1 p.m. Twenty family members were coming for a BBQ. Call it a couple hours in the sun, call it the end of a busy week, but all of a sudden I didn't want them to come over. I wanted to sit out in my newly cleansed back yard, read a book, and watch the hummingbirds.
Calene came outside to make a suggestion about something else that needed to be done before the invasion. I snapped and said something sharp. She came right back with something equally angry. The woman can be fierce.
That's when I realized that neither of us were in a mood for company. Yet the 2 pm start was rolling around. No way we could cancel it.
It had been a week. Started off with a 2 a.m. visit to the ER resulting in a five-day hospital visit and surgery for Callie. Taking London hit stores on Tuesday, which is a wonderful sort of euphoria that comes with a schedule full of interviews and publicity. That's the great part. The downside is checking my Amazon ranking and the reviews, which is almost impossible not to do. Then came my speech and signing at Barnes & Noble on Saturday. Full house, cash register busy, lots of great Q&A (C-SPAN filmed it; air date TBD but some time in July).
So you'd think that when Calene (fresh out of the hospital) asked the rhetorical question on Wednesday about having a Father's Day BBQ, that I would immediately give the proper answer (meaning: no). Instead, I committed her to a family gathering that would make Father's Day perfect. Then, just one hour before the gun, that was the worst idea in the world.
We fought a little. We said the I'm sorry's. Then we had a perfectly lovely afternoon with my dad and hers, my brother and sister, and my boys. Thus, the week came to an end.
I have a habit of taking on too much, mostly for reasons of control. I had a talk with myself about faith, gratitude, and hope. Worry won't change a thing. I can't control who buys the book or what they say about it. It is finding its audience and I wrote my best. There's nothing else I can do.
Other than power wash, which is a strangely cathartic way to spend a Father's Day.