Second day of September 2006
The writer has gotten out of the house promptly at ten, as agreed with the wife today. They worked diligently at transferring the row of logs and wood to the back, lined up along the fence on the north side of the lot. The wire fence is overgrown with honeysuckle, which the writer has reminded himself has to come down, specially that which has begun to twine and twist about the slender branches of the live oak.
As the writer blogs, his almost four year old son has climbed onto the office chair, and is sitting, back to his papa's back, legs dangling over the seat, quietly eating a banana. He seems content; a few smacking sounds faintly make themselves heard.
The writer sees his wife come in with his daughter, hears her tell the daughter they have to wash hands first (before eating, presumably), and turns his head back toward the monitor. The two small plastic containers, one palm-sized one of omeprazole, the other smaller and of a translucent orange, scarcely filled with fluoxetine capsules, remind him to take the medication now.