Saturday was a day that required the logistical planning of the invasion of a small country. Every activity was timed to the minute, and no breaches of this staging were tolerated. We drove into the wilds of southern New Jersey to pick up Caitlin from camp, drove her home, shoved load after load of laundry into the capacious bins of the washer and dryer, and went out to lunch (no food left in the house, except for the animals, and that all smells pretty vile). Somehow I had scheduled a hair appointment on this day of insane activity, and since my hair was beginning to take on the tones of pewter rather than copper, it was absolutely necessary to show up. I couldn’t even really enjoy the few minutes of peace in the salon, so many disconnected thoughts of undone (and potentially unremembered) to-do’s were racing through my brain. Had I left the vet’s number with the pet sitter? (No, that was one of those things that did not make it onto list of checked-off items.) Was Caitlin’s medication all in order to return to camp? (Yes, this is one of those imperatives that it’s unable to forget.)

We drove Caitlin to a friend’s house, and then took Rebecca to my cousin’s house near Princeton, where she is staying for a week in which she will be praised and pampered and no one will tell her to take out the trash or clean the cat litter. We dashed back home to pick up Caitlin from the train station, and somewhere in there, even more laundry was cleaned and sorted and packed.

Sunday was last minute errands, grocery shopping so that we won’t return to a house completely (only mostly) bereft of food, and returning Caitlin to camp (another head lice check and sign up for major and minor subjects). Once we drove out of the camp parking lot, I breathed a sigh of relief, but not too deeply yet, because we still had to get to the airport, get through security, get on the plane, and arrive at our destination. There were innumerable things that could go wrong between that moment and breathing the air in California, and I imagined most of them. Terrorists, idiots who jump the security line, mechanical malfunctions, wardrobe malfunctions – any or all of these could conspire to keep us from the restful quiet of Big Sur. But none did, and here I am now, writing from the deck, overlooking woods filled with birds and the rumored mountain lion. The air is cool and misty and the biggest decision is whether to sit outside in the sunken hot tub on the deck, or sit inside by the fire (using environmentally friendly Good Wood(TM), of course), or maybe even take a nap. Perhaps all three, one after another.