In my morning writing - those three pages of just-awake rambling - I've been discussing with myself the idea of setting up an outdoor space. For me. For me, just to sit, to meditate, to have a cup of tea or a gin-and-lime, and look at my yard. An altar of sorts, too. A place to light a candle, put some flowers, and declare good intentions for the poor yard and my family and my life.

A little table, a chair. Sunshine. 

Doesn't it sound wonderful?

It would get me outside, where I want to be, but resist going with everything I've got. (You go figure it out if you can. I've given up).

I could - in an attempt to appease that annoying scrabbling guilt I hear in the back of my mind - I could take my laptop out there and do some writing, if it seemed necessary. And if I get inspired to do something in the yard, I could get up and do it. And I'd have warm, fuzzy feelings of goodness.