Last day of work at the vets' is Friday. Turns out I have a modest mutual fund that's been sitting around being meagerly productive since my parents were in a car crash when I was three, so I don't have to be quite as scrambled-out stressed about getting another one. J graduated last Friday, and we're going to take next week and do a bunch of hiking, a bunch of gardening (the kale! the broccoli! they are huge already!), a bunch of barbecuing, a bunch of laying around and a bunch of reading. Hopefully it'll rain the whole time.

I was beginning to be afraid that any place I lived would suddenly dry up. Arizona had its driest winter in memory; my winter in San Francisco yielded fewer than a dozen rainy days. He's been promising me a month solid of spring rain, but it has yet to materialize. So far we've got two days in a row.

My darling adoptive uncle has been chiding me, but I swear I'll be writing more soon. The days have been long - with the drive I'm out ten hours a day, and the days start early. But I have been feeling the tug and rumble of words. The tug also of my zafu, which finally pulled my butt and my scattered brain down today for a scant ten minutes. Japanese chants waft abstractly through my mind at work, in the shower. The Zen Center incense smells like home.

More soon. I promise.