Nothing grows in my garden. Well, one tomato, three lemon cucumbers, a single scrawny pepper, and four stalks of corn -- two of which produced tiny, inedible ears (exciting as they were for the kids). The transplanted grapes -- shoots from family grapes brought from Italy -- didn't take.
Part of this can be blamed on the weather, but I am also convinced that right now, I just can't grow anything.
The kids are fine, the animals are healthy. But all my houseplants, even, are dead or dying.
It's baby week beyond our house: We met a good friend's beautiful new baby. We received text and a phone photo of a new nephew. We heard another good friend will be having another baby in the spring. I love these people, love these babies. And I feel guilty that their joy -- my joy for them! -- is also a reminder.
I can't grow anything here.
And my dissertation isn't writing itself.
(Of course, it is September. And if it's September, I must be lamenting.)