Monsoon is crashing over our heads.
Were I motivated to sit under the portico with a tripod and a remote switch I might have captured the lightning strike that bisected this scene moments before I took this picture.
It's noisy and blustery and altogether wonderful.
Though we might be a little crowded, scrunched inside if it happens during the wedding, the enormity and the beauty of it all will provide a wonderful distraction to any discomforts.
And anyhow, I'm not allowing it to rain that evening.
I've already sent the memo.
Remember that closet I had professionally organized? Thirteen months ago I wrote this:
Boxes of photographs and scrapbooking materials sit on the floor, taunting me but out of the way.
Yesterday, I tackled those boxes.
MOTG needed some photos of our bride-to-be, and they were all there, in labeled envelopes, for the most part, nestled amongst the negatives and the rolls of Kodachrome and the instant camera and its square film packs.
I have a box of memories ready to be mailed, two full recycling bins, and one less box in the corner.
It's nice that this wedding is also having a positive effect on my closets.
I've been swimming laps every day, examining in minute detail every twitch of every muscle fiber. G'ma asked me, last week, why I was leaning over; this morning I realized that I list to the right even when swimming.
It seems I am doing it everywhere. Now, the answer I gave her feels less snarky than I thought at the time. It seems to be the truth:
"It's just the way I am these days."
I needed a place to store the MaxSea, so I flipped up the roof of the CD House which lives by the front door and those acid loving plants
and traded floral nutrition for Roman Holiday, Justified (season 1), and Sports Night (the complete series).
There's something to be said for this cleaning up and putting things away in an appropriate place business, it seems.
I took out three books from the library.
Finished Alexander McCall Smith's newest No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency novel in one blissful afternoon.
Stuck Jesse Kellerman's paperback of The Executor in my purse where it languised for days.
When I finally opened it up, the entire story came back to me in a flash - including the fact that I absolutely abhored the narrator the first time I read it.
It's a good thing that his father's Victims was my third choice. I haven't read it and Alex Delaware and Milo Sturgis are two of my favorite detectives. I'm half way through and loving it.
I was going to use the bbq to create a tasty dinner this evening.
Right now, the lightning is still announcing its presence with authority.
Excuse me, please, while I attempt to convince TBG that dining out is in our best interests this evening.
I promise we'll be home in time for The News Room and Political Animals.... Sigourney Weaver as Hilary Clinton? That, and more, in tomorrow's Burrow.