We have family from out of town visiting. Andrew, our son, hasn’t been in the US during the summer for a few years. So everyone went to buy Amish sweet corn. (It’s just like regular sweet corn, for the record. Which means fresh from the field and wonderful.) I stayed home.

I made a short list. Clean the acorns off the deck. Make sure there is gas for the grill. Inflate the air mattress one last time before throwing it away, in case there was a loose valve that left me resting mostly on the floor this morning. Write a post.

I started with the air mattress. I used Ben’s leaf blower to clean off the deck (Of course a 3 year old grandson has a small real leaf blower). I checked the gas tank on the grill. It felt light. I checked the backup tank. It felt light. (And I realized that it is a very good summer for crickets, given the number under the tank.)  

I was suddenly glad I checked. We might not have enough gas for supper.

I got my keys, found a coupon, went back to sweep off the backup tank before loading it in the car to run to the hardware store.

I realized that it had more gas than I thought.

There’s enough between the two tanks to grill the hamburgers tonight.

And there’s enough time to write to you.

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I worry. It’s not so much worrying, of course, as being mentally prepared for every eventuality. I want to make sure there is enough, that I have back up plans, that I have thought through all the things that could run out or go wrong.

Except for the time. The time that runs out while worrying about all those things. Except for the attention. The attention that drains away from the people visiting.

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In a bit, they will be back with the corn and the family and the time I have. Because we might have more than we think. Until we don’t.

I’ll see you next week some time.

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P.S. The gas ran out as the food was finishing. There was exactly enough.