Changes, Hell, for all the good they are why do I feel the consummate loser. Whatever I was thinking when I’d written the last sentence could be beyond my realm of life as I’m seeing from under my aching brow this at that just after my waking moment this morning.
Laying on my blanket I was feeling. What? I don’t know? I had only opened my eyes to see again to the realization I knew I was alive. I laid there not particularly looking at anything, thoughts slowly starting to drift by my open eyes in panoramic form. At the same time I felt comfortably within my own blanketed warmth. Pushing back that blanket the realization the fire was low came to uncomfortably cool to me. Yet by natures demand I had to relieve myself save peeing the bed. On my return, I looked into the stove lifting the one moving handle of the pair. It was cold. Putting a hand on top the stove the top plate was only warm from the heat the brick liner had emitted saving the stove’s touch from being absolutely cold.
Ta Hell with the stove. I closed it up and taking my blanket from my bed I wrapped it about me settling in to my recliner chair opening my mind and heart to the first simplest emotions of the new day. One to sort out and take the medications to assist my living one more day; the other, I’d set down beside my handily positioned word-processer to record ridiculous thoughts I’m sure no one else would be interested in. Still, maybe I’ll live better if I relieve myself of them thoughts (daydreams more like it) by setting them down to print.
My first thought was all about all the Sunday morning years I had wakened to see my colleen’s dark brown wavy hair before my eyes, the distinctive smell of her existence filling my nostrils, my listening to her breathing the most solitary tune I’ve nightly enjoyed listening to, and then the inevitable reaching out to lay a hand on her body’s warmth making sure she was as real as she’d appeared to be. And then the piece de resistance, the phenomenal movement her body’s closing the blankets hollowed space between us making us near as one, that simple act most times totally irreparably magically making us as one.
Wherever did those days go? Some of those simple acts of reassured love’s we’d shared at times awkwardly stolen when to busily surrounded by the pitter patter of little responsibilities. Those were endearing days from wit we looked foreword to the healthful uninterrupted wealthy days we would earn for, yearn for, undivided solitude between us. Days that be our uninterrupted own, days we’d take turns cashing in all our water marked rain checks, days we’d fulfill all those interrupted moments completing the simplest tasks what were left unfinished, and finish tasks dreamed never started. Enough maudlin.
Could be I’m about to loose a cyber friend, but so help my honesty I’ve got to tell it like it is…………….I’ve the feeling I’m tryiung to negotiate a moonless night in the wilderness with a dead flashlight.
I can’t make out the print on over half of your postings, the print set against the black back ground. I’m so sorry to offer this complaint especially when I’ve so many internet problems of my own. When I’ve the proper time to read and now’n’then even catchup some of your adventures I feel as though I shall be left out.
Just the same I offer you these hugs (((Paula)))
What a day!
First thing out of my box I had to reprogram Bro’s mind. Catching up with him our shared absenteeism the last couple days, He tells me, “We’re going to work on the JD cab in the shop today.”
A gorgeous day, a day ideally suited to planting a cover crop, a day for tempering the dryness of yesterdays cut hay, a day to work and live it to the fullest outdoors soaking up surpluses of vitamin “D.”
He’s going to waste the day? I pointed out, “I need to make hay.” I added “I could use some help hooking up the implements to the 2150 Ollie. I can’t drive it an pin the implements together at the same time. I can spend some time moving the seeder and seed, If I can get a ride back.” My words said it was time I got out of the way. Practically nothing gets done around but what it isn’t his idea. It was my time to move on. I had preparatory things to do outside like filling fuel cans, loading out a jack and a pry for starters. A few moments later Bro’s come out side telling me we’d better get the cover crops planted. My thinking, “Whoopee!”
Later, while I left bro to working the land I was off to move up the seeder after I had blown out the mice and aired the tires. Delivering it to the field I found I was lucky having made it at all, on an adopted Michelin coming apart tire. The day’s time to short to complete anything, taking baby girl with me we transported the straw and cover to Susan’s house banking her west wall and covering it. Then it was back to the farm for the seed wagon hooked onto the wood haulin’ trailer, this riggin’ driven to my house for lil’ Ford tractor Ford gased out of a can I hit the road. My baby girl, her boy friend and Bro’ eventually catching up to me, we picked up rocks ‘til we had a trailer loaded, and emptied. Getting late I had to get back here if my ladies were to be fed.
Seemingly little done, it still was a very productive Shorthorn country day. It wore me out, particularly the rock picking part. That rock picking intensifying my headache, I’m taking up looking for some dark chocolate covered Tylenol caplets. Finishing my chores I got in well after supper-thirty. BGKC.