The peepers are singing at the top of their little lungs following a heavy downpour as a storm cell rolled through the area.  I was picking up a movie rental at the local grocery store when the deluge hit.  As I stood by the window admiring the wind-driven rain a clap of thunder and bright flash of light sent one lady hustling from her perch on the sill.  I remained as I stood with barely a flinch updating my social media page.  I reckon Armageddon might ensue and I’d be too busy getting a first-hand account uploaded to my profile to even realize it might behoove me to seek higher ground.  I did eventually step a few paces from the precarious glass barrier and waited another several minutes as the sun penetrated the glaucous horizon.

The ex just text and called me in a slight panic having been notified via email that a movie was rented using the joint bank account.  It reminded me that there’s yet another item to address in terms of severing our ties.  She is now on her own auto insurance and cell phone plan.  All that remains is selling the house and a pending settlement agreement when her attorney gets around to it.  My father is awaiting some documents from a colleague who has experience in real estate contracts as I investigate the land contract option.  I have a couple coming to see the place this weekend who are very excited at an opportunity to relocate from the city to the suburbs, particularly for a school district that they prefer for their 3 boys.  It would be wonderful if we can orchestrate a win-win situation out of this predicament.

I’m totally exhausted after a fun evening spent celebrating a friend’s 60th birthday with wine, homemade pizza and a viewing of Yellow Submarine.  At one point early on during the ethereal film I had a wave of sadness, or grief well up.  For whatever reason, perhaps the copious glasses of Malbec, I began thinking about my ex and a sense of nostalgia swept over me.  For a few moments I imagined what it might be like to reconcile, and I suspect my company was aware that I was consumed inside my own head.  After a few minutes I was able to relax and be present enjoying the absurd, yet insightful content of the Beatles’ classic production.  Ad hoc add lock quid pro quo, so little time so much to know!

To compound my fatigue I spent the afternoon digging in the dirt at the Franciscan Sister’s facility for follow-up work in a grotto area replete with a statue of Mother Mary and the names of their dearly departed etched into a memorial.  The muggy conditions made it feel more like mid-summer than early spring as sweat streamed from my temple and coalesced with snot oozing from my nose as I edged, weeded and hauled away debris.  I felt light-headed at one point as the heat and exertion reminded me of the sweat lodge just a few nights hence struggling for strength to push onward I broke into a few verses of the Friendship Song.  Singing is so empowering and it did afford me a surge of energy.  I recalled what I’d heard from Tahwehdaqhui many years ago when I’d first started going up to the reservation, “When you’re singing you know you’re on your path.”

Earlier in the day I’d spent an hour coordinating the loading of several household items from the home of a retired Buffalo Bill.  I was doing my friend Chris a favor, as I’ve been doing with promoting The Night of Champions fundraiser in support of City Kids @ Summer Camp over the last several weeks.  He was to get an entertainment center, and the remainder of the goods- ping pong table, 53″ inch TV, dresser set- earmarked for a rehab program sponsored by a local pastor.  Adam Lingner was the long snapper for the Bills during their Super Bowl years and despite being drafted in the 9th round by the Kansas City Chiefs persevered to a 13 year career.  As the movers finished packing the truck we chatted for a moment in his driveway.  They’d been unaware that he was a retired pro athlete and when I pointed this out one of them immediately went for a hot spot bringing up “Wide Right” in Super Bowl XXV claiming it was a “chip shot.”  Adam balked at his version of events clarifying that 47 yards on grass is “Makeable, but not a chip shot.”  I chuckled for a moment and said something to divert an awkward moment before wishing Adam well on his relocation to Minneapolis where his wife received a promotion.

So here it is close to 9 pm and I haven’t started this movie about an alleged deceased Russian spy starring Richard Gere and others.  The Washington Capitals and New York Rangers are tied 1-1 in a pivotal Game 3 of their second round battle to advance.  The ride down to the beach on the quad to capture a couple of shots of the sun setting over the lake provided an uplift, although my eyes remain heavy on this hump day.  Tomorrow we’ll finish up the Sister’s facility and I expect to collect some overdue payment from my former business partner.  I’ve been riding the line financially so long that I’m finally embracing it into my comfort zone not knowing when or where from the next inflow of money will arrive.  I could really use the cash to keep this train rolling down the tracks, where it’s headed nobody knows.

In common wealth,