I've just realized that I'm trying to do at 71 what I could easily do at 51, and that I made an unsustainable plan to achieve an unrealistic objective. Somewhere in the back of my mind is a nasty little nag accusing me of laziness. Meanwhile, my body has limits and is enforcing them.

SIL No. 2 has excellent advice for my current slightly wobbly state: First, stop doing stuff. Next, drink a glass of water. Then take a walk. If possible, take a nap. Rinse and repeat. I did all of that except the nap yesterday, then went to bed at nine o'clock. I finally rolled out of the pit this morning at seven-thirty, when both cats started tromping back and forth across my legs in unmistakeable indignation. I'm still a little trembly, so another round of water, walk, and not much else is on the agenda until late this afternoon. Oddly, I'm most energetic in the hours just before supper.

I have only the three remaining 5-cu barrels to unpack in the basement, and I can tackle those in stages next week when it's raining. (I'm still looking for the sofa cushions and the wicker laundry basket, but now I'm pretty sure I know where they are.) Also, I should call the carpet cleaners and ask about pick-up and delivery services, as my current car is not big enough to take a rolled-up eight- by eleven-foot Persian rug. Come to think of it, I'm not strong enough any more to load it by myself, so I really should not try.

Summer is having its last hurrah in Ottawa this weekend, with forecast highs in the upper 20s Celsius under a relentless blue and sunny sky. It's a good thing that I have not packed away my summer dresses; I'll need one if I am to avoid melt-down.