Happy Father's Day

I spent part of the day with my dad, and too much of the rest gardening - which is a bit of a joke here in Central Texas. Gardening is merely a battle to keep my veggies alive in the hope that they might get big enough to offer a squash or a tomato.

One gallant little squash plant is trying to bloom. If it succeeds, the flowers will grow bigger than the whole plant. I can't decide if I should pluck off these early attempts, or let the plant do its own thing.

My dad was very quiet. I think the blossom spoke more loudly. I'm afraid this may be his last Father's Day, since he has been getting weaker and weaker, and drawing away from the world.

Because I spent too much time eating my mom's cheesecake, watching golf with my dad, and talking to my garden, I didn't get as much done as I'd planned. Well, honestly, that is my excuse. I spent too much time staring at the screen, cursing myself for writing a vague outline. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Room to grow, places for the magic to happen. But instead I'm spending too much time saying, "I can't get 2,000 words out of this! I'll be lucky to get 500."

But generally I can squeeze out 1,000 with plans to go back and flesh it out later.

Monsoon Rain is up to 23,573 words, and almost that many grumbled cuss words.