More Time

I have lists upon lists, and they never seem to get any smaller. The garden is producing monster cukes and there are 500, more or less, green tomatoes that will soon ripen and demand canning. The flower beds need weeding, the roses need spraying for Japanese beetle, and I'd love to figure out why the expensive timer for the front lights is not turning on. But I get home, eat dinner, spend some time with Jack, put him to bed, walk the dog, do a few necessary jobs like, oh, clean the kitchen and do some laundry, and then I have a few minutes of reading in bed and I'm out.

Don't even get me started on the big things, like painting the kitchen, ripping up the ugly carpet in the sunroom and replacing with bamboo flooring, and the mound of sewing projects in the basement.

This is causing me some anxiety, and I've been putting some thought into it. I can give away cucumbers instead of making pickles. No one in my house likes pickles anyway, except me, and I can't eat 40 jars. I can get up early tomorrow, spray the roses, do some weeding and watering and be done with it. The lights are not necessary. And the sewing projects are supposed to be fun, not a burden.