This morning I am being taken blueberry picking. The car will arrive at 9 and will whisk me off to some field somewhere in Maine, and then I will fill a few containers with berries until lunchtime and then I will fill a few more containers, and then my friends will whisk me home. The expedition is delightfully out of my control, except for the actual picking of berries.

I haven't been on a serious berry-picking run since I left Harmony. It was something I always did with my boys, the three of us wildly filling dishpans and baby bathtubs with blueberries and strawberries. Those two are berry-picking kings: even as little guys they knew how to fill a pail fast, and in our prime our trio could strip a row in minutes. 

I hope to be more desultory today. Without either a chest freezer or ravenous boys, there's no point in gloriously overdoing it. And I'm tired. It's been a long week of PLANS PLANS IDEAS HURRY on about ten different fronts, so I am going to conscientiously try not to relapse into my traditional furious berry-picking persona. It will be hard to behave like a hobby picker, but that's my goal.