Almost every summer since I was nine years old, I've spent a week on Chincoteague Island with my family. There is a lot of good-natured shouting, and beer, and singing and bike riding and music, games, fresh seafood night after night, icecream, mosquito bites, happiness and exhaustion. I am grateful for the time we share there and the string of memories I've made there over time; and I am also very happy to be back home at my table right now. It is probably somewhere between 80 and 90 degrees in my apartment, and I am surrounded by a slew of messiness that needs to be sorted and put away. I have all kinds of things to do as soon as I finish typing. But the fan is humming nicely, an evening thunderstorm is brewing, and it is going to feel so good to get things in order again. I'll put fresh sheets on my bed, take a pile of donations to the Goodwill, take recycling to the bins, go to the grocery store to get ingredients for dinner since my refrigerator and cupboards are empty, and then be well on my way back into the swing of everyday life.