It’s Sunday, and I’m in the gallery putting finishing touches on tomorrow’s presentation. Do I like this? No. Do I have any choice? Not that I can see. When you’re self-employed, this is part of the price of having that freedom. Is it worth it? Every bit.

But it’s noon, and I’m done. We’re in very good shape, and I know the presentation is strong. Now I’ll ride my bike home (good brisk day to ride), make an omelette for everyone, then hang a door and paint a jamb. Afterward? Tackle football with my sons and their friends, ages 15 to 17. I’m 48. I can’t outrun many of those punks any longer, but I can sure knock em down. Trouble is, they can knock me down too.

It’s going to be a fine day.