Procrastination

A wicker basket of laundry folded but not put away.

One hour walking (um, trespassing really) with a friend down a cracked private road that humps like a dinosaur’s back through craggy monoliths soaked from churning salt spray. Lately we’ve tempted ourselves to stroll farther, each time with fingers crossed that we aren’t escorted out in handcuffs. “Sign officer? What sign?”

A quick stop for a cup of coffee to go, lightened with cream, “shaken, not stirred” by the coffee shop clerk.

Homework. An hour online researching a foundation for a theoretical grant I’d be writing for a new senior center building in our town, if I actually had accountability for writing it. Bingo. Who knew I’d discover a generous philanthropic organization founded in memory of a woman who used to live about a mile from me?

Another hour studying the lesson above, and then an online quiz. (100% thank you very much. You gotta love open book tests.)

Forty-five minutes reading and commenting on the blogs I follow.

Approximately fifteen minutes analyzing how to set up tables for a sit down Thanksgiving for 28, 29 or 30 people (TBD), while allowing a path to the kitchen for me, and one to the restroom for everyone else. (Don’t worry, all guests contribute to the feast.)

A “to do” list beginning this weekend, of things to accomplish ahead of time to make T-Day run smoothly (nervous breakdown not included).

A scroll through a Word document called “I Can do This,” now over 200 pages long, containing drafts of every blog post I’ve written, as well as aborted passages never published, in hopes that it would jog an idea for today.

A visit to Dancing with the Gorilla, because “I Can do This” gave me nothing. (I’ve used that trick too many times before.) Choosing from Darnell’s list, I’ll try to“storm” something. It worked the last time I was stuck.

Oh dear, I’m distracted. Anyone care to supply me with their favorite, easy, delicious, and make ahead Thanksgiving recipe?