We're in Wilmington attempting to escape for a few days. Instead we're at the hotel watching Wall Street collapse and the aftershocks reverberate in Europe. sigh.
There's no escape.
Our house has been on the market for nine days, and there hasn't been a single call. Not one. Every morning we make the bed, fluff the pillows on the couch, put away all the dishes. At night we come home, and everything is exactly how we left it.
Let's hope somebody looks at how pretty it is before the flowers wilt and the weeds grow back.
Big forces are moving in the universe. There must be something good in store for us. There always is.
TODAY:
--mounted the last dorade box
--started planning our attack on the Annapolis boat show
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