July is the least exciting of months. When I lived in the eastern part of North Carolina, I hated it. It was unbearably hot, muggy and humid, and I spent almost all of it hybernating in order to be in an air-conditioned room. In the mountains, where I live now, it is lovely: cool, pleasant, with birdsong as an accompaniment to my days. This month has been a kind of passage--from the excitement of June when I was in Greece with all my family, both the American and the Greek members of it, to August.
I keep hoping that August will hold some good things. One is definite: my youngest grandchildren are coming to spend time with us and there is no great delight than their presence in our home. I long for Miles' pitter-patter, the sound of his little feet that never walk but always run or jump; and for Jeremy's sweet quiet--slipping into my bed early each morning for a cuddle and his ruminations that come out of nowhere. His early morning conversations are continuations of his night musings; his mind never stops.
The second expectation is my new book, Light to the Darkness. It is scheduled for August 1, but I know that the deadline is not possible. My big concern is: How do I market it before Advent?
And the third is that someone will come to see my house, fall in love with it, as I did--with its stunning views, its light, its openness, its livability, its great kitchen -- and will buy it so I can move near my little ones in Louisville.
So July passes. It gave me a chance to recover from the trip to Greece, to get over my sadness at leaving my birthplace again, and to start hoping for good things. Not a bad month after all. Thank you, July.
