Here comes the sun

As I sit at my dining table working, I'm entertained by the changing light. I take the same pictures over and over, marking the seasons, the hours of the day. I have a desk in my bedroom that looks out at a sturdy tree, but this clear wooden expanse of table in my living room is where I generally prefer to be.

I read an editorial yesterday that argued that the reason the Republicans keep screaming at us through the television screen is to provoke so much annoyance that people turn off the TV. They're staking the future of their party on low information voters—people with their heads in the sand. It might be working.

We are just two weeks away now from our trip to Jamaica for my niece's wedding. We'll be staying in a villa on the north coast, at the same property where our family reunion was held some years ago now. It's going to be so much fun. I'll be surrounded by all my favorite people. So why am I anxious about what I'll wear? I have no proper island clothing anymore, nothing floaty and colorful to wear to the wedding, and as for climbing into my bathing suit, well, let's just say some sort of beach coverup will be employed.

I called the very lovely personal shopper with whom I won a complementary session a couple years ago. I have an appointment with him next week. We shall see if I come away from that with my silly yet enervating appearance anxiety calmed. Why is showing up, even when surrounded by the people who know me best, always so damned hard? Here's another work table photo. Those sunbeams reached right into my house and posed for the picture.