Night and day

My brother is in town. He came over last night, so did his daughter and her guy, and my daughter and one of her friends. This woman is her work wife. Hired one week apart, they became instant allies, then found out they knew a lot of people in common and started hanging out across social circles. She was sleeping over for a fun girls night while my daughter's boyfriend is away in San Francisco for the weekend. Work wife is a delight, one of those people who can walk into any room and immediately turn strangers into friends. We all watched the NBA Finals and drank lots of margaritas and engaged in rousing, laughing conviviality, because whenever my brother and my niece are around, it is a party. After everyone left at around 1:30 A.M. my husband and I looked at each other and agreed, "Well, that was a blast." The only thing that would have made it more fun was my son being there, too, as he and his uncle riff off each other endlessly, always to amusing effect.

I have nothing planned for today. It is stretching out ahead of me like a yawning space, asking—demanding—to be filled. My man is at church painting a renovated room in the undercroft with some other folks, and I could join them, but I know I won't. I could work on the book, there is always work, but it's clear and sunny outside, not a trace of humidity, and I know I should be taking advantage of this day, taking myself somewhere that feeds the spirit. Everyone is busy while I am at a loose end. I feel a little lost, to tell you the truth. I know, boo hoo.