June. It's coming.

Again with the holiday weekends. It's like the gods must love me, and I love them. Though I must admit this one I'm squandering on movies and picnic and lazing around the house.

All the while June in knocking at the door. June, the official busy month of the year. In a span of four weeks I will be invaded by loved ones, each staying long enough so that we won't kill each other.

Hopefully.

My first visit is from my baby brother, now 17 (almost 18) and a high school graduate. It will be his first trip abroad and I look forward to his observations. I'm almost like an anthropologist with observations. There are people who I've taken to places just to watch their reaction. Ever since I was in college and learned all about watching and gauging reactions in theatre it's just overwhelmed me. Taking a cynic to Disney, bringing anyone not from Texas/Louisiana to a crawfish boil, that sort of thing. Fish out of water stuff. I actually do it to myself when I can, because taking on something new - even for a short experience - can be enlightening and liberating.

But, I'm fretting. Or worrying. Or going a bit barking, depending on where you are from. Because even though I am sure my baby bro and my friends will enjoy wherever we take them, I want it to be special. Spectacular. I'm so grateful that somehow I was programmed to want to make sure that everything goes so well. At least I am sure the hair dye industry loves me, considering how I love fretting over just about anything.

So as I laze (and feverishly read books on Paris... and websites on bus fares ... and contimplate castles and manor houses...) I just want to give a big shout to the people who thought up these holiday weekends, who remind me that I do need to work on this lazy thing just a little. Because soon enough I'll be a very busy bee.