I've neither time nor wit for heavy-duty rumination at the moment. I'm too busy gathering rosebuds -- both literally and figuratively.
Perhaps it's because of the flowering season; perhaps it's down to the rare and glorious sunshine; but May and June in England are cram-ful of buzzing activity.
Even though I do have a Garboesque side, at the moment I'm just a girl who can't say no.
In the last nine days: I've been to a 40th birthday party, a 50th birthday party, three children's birthday parties, a BBQ and a summer fete. I've had 15 fourteen year-olds dancing, laughing, screeching, and eating Mexican food in my house. I've had 15 rather more restrained old friends eating hamburgers in my garden. I've been to London with one set of Houston visitors, and Hampton Court with another set. I'm gearing up for another weekend of much the same -- with friends for July 4, two more birthday parties and the Race for Life.
Why am I living my life like it's a race?
On Saturday, I spent a chunk of the day at my youngest daughter's summer fete. In a moment of true madness, I volunteered to make 100 roll-out sugar cookies (in the shape of ice cream cones; very cute, actually) for a decorate-your-own-cookie booth. Although I have burbled on about my enthusiasm for cookies, quite recently in fact, I do think there is a limit -- and I may have reached it.
Mae West once suggested that "too much of a good thing can be wonderful . . . " but I'm fairly certain that she wasn't talking about cookies.
I might wear myself out for friends, but I draw the line at baked goods.
I know that one day it will be November, when the days fade by late afternoon, and everyone hunkers down. I will remember, wistfully perhaps, these long, frantic days. But at the moment, I feel like I could do with a quiet afternoon in a darkened room.
But never mind that! Tomorrow I'm off to Wimbledon.