Toto, I’ve got a feeling we’re not in Vermont anymore

Across the river from my home is a place where domesticated deer, golf enthusiasts, prolific geese and yours truly get their jollies. You would, too, if you were closer. Save the golf balls and bird poop, the place is GOD’S COUNTRY, as my Montana friends up north might say. Every morning, I pull back the curtains and check to make sure it’s still there while I wait impatiently for my coffee to brew. It’s an enduring ritual. Only, yesterday morning, Allan pulled them back for me and said, “You blinked.”

“I what?”

“Blinked.”

And that’s when I noticed. Some of the leaves on the branches on the trees on the golf course’s edge are turning that yellowish-green already. That yellowish-green that denotes FALL IS COMING.

*me squinting at the calendar*

“It’s August 13th, Sweetie,” he said while handing me my coffee.

“That’s what I thought…A little early isn’t it??”

“Well, not in Vermont.”

But Vermont is a good EIGHT states from here, depending on what route you take. And I vehemently say it’s too early. For EVERYTHING and ANYTHING FALL… EVEN in Vermont.

Isn't it bad enough that school starts a WEEK from tomorrow? And that my six-year-old little boy will be getting read for his first day of Kindergarten in EIGHT days?! In THREE days we’ll be embarking on an official, honest-to-goodness vacation — hotel rooms, swimming pools, train rides, motion sickness and the likes. Maybe it’s because vacation is as foreign a word to me as exercise, but I swear just yesterday, it felt like were a MONTH away from our mini-trip. Instead, I am a MONTH and FOUR DAYS away from a Booksellers Fall Trade Show that I’ll be attending.

FALL. It’s looming like a big ol’ Vermont rain cloud off in the horizon… if Vermont had horizons.

Anyway, thinking about all the stuff that’s plumb-ready to happen made me reflect upon the things that have ALREADY happened this short summer, all of which I was remiss to tell you about:

I had to take Kyra to the emergency room because she broke out in hives from antibiotics… well… we THINK it was from the antibiotics. The girl likes her rashes. And wears them quite often.

And I had a mole removed from my left shoulder. Unlike poor Dooce’s, mine was benign. And, as you can imagine, AT LEAST a hundred sighs of relief ensued. (I thought about putting the picture of my scar, but it's not worth it... it was THAT insignificant.)

Upon my request, I was transferred to another field office fifteen miles closer to my front door, as opposed to the 35 it was before. Bummer of a deal. See, now I’m full-time again. No more napping on the couch while trying to watch reruns of Family Feud just before children-pickup time. No more snooping on the neighbors playing hooky. (Although most are pretty darned retired to be hookying from anything.)

Also, Rosetta Stones has been registered in the Library of Congress, and there’s a big, fat official ISBN number laying in wait! WOOHOO!

And I got this message back from my publisher a few days ago: "Unless something major comes up in the review process, I doubt you will need to make any additional substantive changes to the manuscript." DOUBLE WOOHOO!!

Things are good at Camp Dix (I stole that from you, Doris.). So I suppose I should force myself to deal with the fleeting summer thing. But God forbid I blink again… I’d hate to miss Thanksgiving.

What have YOU forgot to post about this summer? Inquiring minds want to know.