It is said, that “All good things must come to an end”.  That was certainly my sentiment on Tuesday, when I watched Jenny pack up her familys’ things .  All sorts of pictures from the last four days flashed in my head . . . Jenny and Sydney with Brynn and Ryan, sitting on a quilt in the shade of a maple . . . Will working from the kitchen table, oblivious to the commotion of three little ones, big meals, bathtime and early mornings, watching one by one, as folks came down stairs to find their day.  It does not matter how long we are together, I am just never satisfied.  I always wish for one more day.  

I came home on Wednesday.  Oh how quiet the house was that day, as I gathered my own things.  It was a bright day and a bit cooler than the days before it.  The last ten days had been miserably hot.  The drive is much easier for me, now and within a few hours, I was back at the rabbitpatch.  Christian and Tres were there, and so I started supper right away.  The boxer was happy to see me and I was glad to see him.  While supper cooked, I sat in the den surrounded by my plants and books.  The morning table stood faithfully waiting, by the window with the old oak peaking in.  I felt like I was in the midst of friends, and that was comforting . . . and beautiful, really.  

I called Mama, to let her know I had arrived safely.  As old, as I am, she still wants to know. There are some. very few things that   do remain the same, in life.   Mama is making the best of the situation.  She misses Daddy deeply-and how could she not?  Her neighbors do all sorts of things to help out.  My cousins, have taken charge of all the yard work-and then there are her friends. Sadly, three of them are widowed now, all in the last year or so.  What a comfort they are.  No matter what anyone does, Mama has had to adjust to a new way of life and of course, that in itself is at times, overwhelming.  Nothing is as it was . . .or easy.  The good news is, Mama is doing what she can to “stay the course”.    . .We all are.

Tres has been with me a few days now.  He is on a break from school, til the next semester starts.  His dog has lived at the rabbitpatch, a few years and is sadly not doing well.  Tres had a trip planned  to the coast, to visit his best friend  and Sarah -but now there is a hurricane expected to come through in a few days!  I just found out a day ago and so I have taken inventory of the supply shelf.  We are fine, but will need to secure, everything outside that is not nailed down.  It is quite early for a hurricane, but it has felt like September, the last few days, as the air has been cooler and dryer – and the floss flowers are trying to bloom, too! 

This year has thoroughly disoriented me!  School closed in March and the pandemic descended, Daddy died in April, there was a frost in May!!  The way we do things have been altered drastically, – the unrest of society . . .and an early hurricane too! – And the subjects we must ponder . . .a cashless society?  for example.  “Old people” have always been accused of “not keeping up with change”.    I “wear that same hat”  now , for I am most certainly, one of  them. 

The days before a hurricane are full of anticipation.  We all listen to the many updates and track the storm fervently.  We go over supplies repeatedly.  We  must anticipate losing power and roads being closed.  Country folks worry about such things especially, for there are trees every where likely to tumble.  . .andwe are always last on the list of assistance from the county.   It will be the farmers that clear our roads.   We do not usually have to worry about major flooding, for though creeks may rise, they do not  cause the same predicament that rivers do.  

Once “Farm Life” went without power about two weeks.  A lot of folks have generators . . .but of course, the rabbitpatch does not.  I hung a water  hose, in the “Quiet Garden”, for there is a fence around it covered in roses, deeming it private.  We showered there.  Food was cooked on a grill, twice a day.  I set up a place to wash clothes.  I had a tub for soaking, one for washing and one for rinsing.  It took all day for them to dry for I could never wring them out efficiently.  I will never forget the day the power company trucks rode by,  A lot of us were working in our yards and we all cheered at the sight of them.  

Other times, hurricanes passed without too much ado.  . . A few days of wind and rain.  If heavy rains come first, then the chances of downed trees increases dramatically.  I always  pray for my trees, in their presence , before a hurricane.  

A leaning pine was here, when I first moved to the rabbitpatch.  It was growing on the edge of the young woods.  It was dreadful to see.  Everyone that came here, encouraged me to cut it down.  I can’t even cut a Christmas tree and so the thing remained.  It was a tall tree and there was a stable and a chicken coop, that were dangerously close.  Everyone said I would lose one or the other, when it fell.  It was very likely.  There was one place the pine could fall, which would spare both-just a sliver of open space.  I talked to God about it.  I asked Him, “why couldn’t I be a normal person, instead of caring about an unsightly leaning pine.”  Certainly, life would be so much easier, if my heart were not so soft, I thought.  I do not have a bit of mercy for poison vines, nor the awful thorned ones, but the pine had yet to harm a living soul.

  As a storm approached, one year, I had an idea, that the pine would not make it.  I was right.  The pine fell neatly between the two structures, again not harming a soul.  You can draw your own conclusions, but that is exactly what happened.

I have also entertained the thought, that one of the old warriors will land smack on the house.  How God works, is His business, after all.  Faith does not spare any of us from tragedy.  If it did, you could sell it like hotcakes-but instead, Faith is a comfort, you have in spite of hard times.  It is knowing,  that we are not in this alone.  I have had my fair share of calamity.  Even now, I do not understand what I was supposed to glean from some of them.  My mind is either too dull, or very slow, probably . . .and sometimes, I think . .”maybe it was not about me!”  Someone else may have gained some value from the whole affair -and I just happened to be there, as well.  

For now, this morning is bright and slightly cooler.  All of the sheets are line drying.  The sick dog is not any better.  I have made chicken and rice-and scrambled eggs, but he fancied neither. The good, local veterinarian  prescribed more medicine, yesterday, so maybe “Champ” will  show improvement, shortly.  

Since, it is a fruitless time to do any yard work, I will concentrate on housekeeping, for the next day or so.   . . and just like Mama . . “Stay the course.

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Sometimes, you have to “grin and bear it”.  That has been the case, for a solid week, at the rabbitpatch. 

I was leaving on Monday, for Raleigh.  I was going so I could help Brant and Sydney, care for our very precious “Ryan”.  Sydney works from home and besides , with their recent move, they are still “setting up housekeeping’.  I was packed and ready, when the refrigerator stopped working.  What a predicament!  It is no small thing, when that appliance stops.  Christian and I were scrambling . . but we  ended up losing the milk, anyway.  We were low on cold groceries, but I was due to pick up an order the next morning. 

A  simple phone call landed me a used refrigerator.  . . to be delivered the next day. I called Sydney and post poned the trip a day.  Later on, I told Christian to move my car, as the delivery , would be so much easier .  The problem was now . . . that the car wouldn’t start.   What is next, I thought, for “things really do happen in threes” .  It didn’t take long, to find out.

This all happened on July fourteenth, I remember it well for I needed to mail my state tax  payment.  I had to refile my taxes this year, for apparently, my returns got lost when they were filed in March.  I decided, on a whim to call the IRS and make sure, that they had received my taxes, this time.  . . of course, they had not.  A very kind agent assisted me, and I am sure she heard the quiver in my voice, for the last folks I want to have trouble with is the IRS.  I wanted to tell her that the refrigerator had quit on me -and the car -but decided against it.  She would just have to think me “fragile” or worse . . .”unstable”.  Really I was both, at that moment.

Thirty long minutes later, the agent cheerfully announced that she did indeed, find those awful papers.  I ran to the mailbox repeating, “at least that is over.” It was not even noon!   

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The thing was older than I had expected and like me, “not much to look at”, but it was cold within moments and that mattered most, at the moment.  With the kitchen clean and orderly, and put back together, I noticed the long, slanted, golden ribbons of sunshine spilling through the windows . . .it was suppertime.

That night, I also found out that there was a possibility, that my job as a music teacher, was a bit in jeopardy.  By this time, I had exceeded, the “things happen in threes ” theory .  The refrigerator was purring softly,  though and  I could come by a battery  for the car, I reminded myself, but what a complicated day it had been!

When I was a child, and some disappointment came along, I would run to the nearest elder and give them the details of my latest plight. There was a wide range of calamities from a lost doll shoe to the wayward behavior  of a naughty cousin. Many times I would be told to “grin and bear it” -and rather flippantly, I thought.  The elders would go about their business, leaving me to my own devices to solve the matter.  I was not coddled in that way.  Comfort would come later, usually after supper, when we all tended to reflect on our day.  Many times, I had forgotten by then, what ever was the matter .   Other times, the direness of the situation had diminished altogether. How beautiful, I think now, for in this way, I developed the confidence and fortitude, that would become mighty handy skills to have in life.  The elders were always right.  How good that I had such a childhood, I always think. . .every  single time I remember.

That night, I wondered about my future.  The battery and the refrigerator purchases would  surely strain my shoestring budget and what if I faced unemployment-and at my age, especially?  Oddly, even this did not make me feel desperate nor hopeless.  There is a “peace that passes understanding.”   

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In light of my remembrances of decades past, I  knew that in one way or another, things would work out.  I decided to make a batch of brownies and  then packed a bag for a trip to Raleigh, for we had planned a small gathering, months ago.  We would celebrate the new home on “Hamlet Green”  and I would have all three grandchildren together.  That meant everything.

July is swiftly slipping by  as steadily as a silver river.  The sultry days turn in to sultry nights and it is now that “white moths are on the wing”.  The blackeyed Susans brighten a corner of the yard like another sun -and the watery lavender buds of the greedy loosestrife  lie in wait, for August.  Gardens are in their prime and red tomatoes are served at most every meal, in some form.  Farmers are on alert for those evening storms that pop up in months like July.  Hail is a dreaded component that can ruin prospects in a few moments. 

Farmers are stalwart folks and can not afford to be lazy, any day.  They must be a “jack-of all- trades”, too, for there are all sorts of chores that range from mechanics to tilling soil.  A  farmer  must pay close attention to the signs of nature, and  realises in youth , that he is dependent on  Nature therefore, a very intimate bond is  forged.    When I used to frequent   groceries, I never failed to think of those that tended the land as well as the agricultural workers who harvest the crops.  Anybody that eats anything, would do well, to do the same.

My packing was finished and the brownies were cooling, when the internet went out.  I called and was put on a list with  folks having the same problem.  It was expected to take a week, to restore service.  I lost the original post . . . and the next one.  It was awful.  When I lose the car keys, well, I know they will turn up, but losing my writing, felt like losing a part of me. 

Now this was a week ago , and I am still unsettled with that same notion.  I probably did not have a single brilliant line written, for I never do, but  how I mourn for those  thoughts . . .at any rate, I am in Raleigh now, with my grandchildren and having a lovely time.

 

 

 

 

July arrived and with it came fireworks . . .and sultry days.  Right when I am sure, I can not bear the heat of a day, clouds come up and sprinkle a cool shower.  This convinces me to muster the grace, a southerner  needs in  months like July.   . .the  window fan, does too.  

I have been home a few days now.   . .long enough to know where the fawn lays.  Though, I  am liable to surprise him in the early morning-and again at noon, he does not scurry in haste.  I have not seen him sauntering around the yard, recently but it has been a pleasure to catch glimpses of him in the young woods.  

I am breaking all the rules instilled in me, as a child, when it comes to taking to the woods in July.  I spent a good deal of my youth rambling in woods . . .but not in the late spring or summers.  There were poisons of all sorts, and ticks, redbugs and snakes.  There were hornets and ground bees -and we children were all warned, sternly about such calamities.  It took a hard frost for the  woodland ban to be lifted.

I can not help but feel a bit guilty for not heeding my elders . . .even now, and find myself thinking of them all as I work. 

The path I am working on is  wide and grassy.  Sunlight falls lovingly, in bright patches along the way.  Birds are constantly tattling on my whereabouts,  as I  try to tame the wild vines.  I have seen several dens of small creatures as  I work, in the first light.  I know a good many of them are rabbits, and surely there is an opossom or two. A few years ago I saw a raccoon.    . .and the wild mulberry is everywhere.  How lovely it will be in September.

I always feel like I am in another world, when I am in a patch of woods. Things that matter so very much, outside of the woods, aren’t  even relevant  .   . .in the woods.  Trees do not gossip, nor hold grudges.  . .and they have always kept my secrets.  When I was young, it didn’t matter that I had freckles,  and it does not matter today, that my hair is silvering.   Trees are not “fair weather friends”.  

Yesterday, I did not work.  I just did not want to be hot, tired and dirty by eight am, and  the rainy forecast gave me permission, to indulge .  I stayed busy, for I have been researching the genealogy of my very Irish family.  I have gone as far back as the first generation born in America.  What lovely names I am finding, such as “Elizabeth Snow, Aqua Belle  and Kissie- and then there is “Sarah Asabella Ann”!  The men have names like “Julian, Whit and Force”!  I just wished the names were spelled the same in official records  consistently -and that folks didn’t start using their middle names at random times.  It makes the task difficult, but I have fallen in love with these folks. They do not feel like strangers, though  I can not explain it.  I imagine Johnston and Kissie coming here, young and hopeful. They have a son, named Benjamin, who married Nancey C . . .my great x 3 grandparents.   Apparently, the Irish are as tribal as you have heard, for they all married Irish.  Only  three cousins died young, I suspect from illness, but it is early in the study of my dads’ ancestry, and who knows what awaits.  At least, for now, there is no record of anyone so much as stealing an egg!

I have seen butterflies this week.  I have only seen but a few fluttering around  the phlox, but, I like to see such business.  I also had the first ripe peach of the season, one day.  Both peaches and apples are  a light yield  this year.  There isn’t a single pear, but one of the fig trees is laden.   . .as are the grapevines.   I am still faithfully practicing social distancing and  so I have time to notice such things.

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I have never understood the theory that there is “nothing to running a home” .  Many are under the impression that it is dull job and requires minimal ability.  I suspect, the folks saying such a thing, have never attempted it.  There is a lot to do and  truthfully, a lot less to it now,  for me, than when the children were little, but somehow, I  still manage to stay busy.  . .of course I do live in a very  old house . . .on an almost uncivilized rabbitpatch.

 There is an art to housekeeping, even now, when we have modern conveniences. and it is an especially noble work, for the whole family benefits from it.   I can not imagine the substance of   the folks, before us, like my “Grandma Kissie”.  I bet she would have been thrilled to have a can of peas!  -and carrots, that she did not dig!

As I write in my beloved rabbitpatch diary, I realise that  an account of my own days, tells a story as true as it can be . . but beyond the rabbitpatch, lies another tale.

I used to say that “Farm Life” saw the world changing and just did not participate.  That impression has remained.  Neighbors here, still bring sweet corn and pies to one another.  If a tree goes down in your yard, it is tended to in a group effort.  Keys were left in cars, in case someone needed to use it.  It gives me great pleasure to write such things . . .and living on a rabbitpatch, nestled in this place, is  certainly a beautiful  and gratifying experience.  I want my heirs to know this and so I keep a record.  I have also, always hoped that this diary might inspire readers in some way.  I do not expect it to change the world, but maybe, it could change a moment, for someone.  

So, beyond the rabbitpatch, things are happening, that I can not fathom.   . .and opinions about it are a dime a dozen.  It is a sad state of affairs, no matter what .  No one can say anything “right” these days and judgement comes swiftly and harshly.  Fear and desperation are very conducive to poor behavior, in general. Even the best of us , will fall under these conditions.  To say that I am concerned, is a feeble statement for I am heartbroken, really.  I am stunned to find us in such a predicament, as well.  I am always the last to know anything, but I declare,it seems now, that the world is  rushing at an alarming pace to more chaos.  I so wish, we would slow down enough to collect our thoughts and seek reconciliation to all the various dividing  factors. 

One thing I am sure of is that pandemics and politics do not pair well. – And I also am sure, like Tennyson, that . . .”More things are wrought by prayer, than this world dreams of.”  

 

 

 

You must get up mighty early, these days to see the sunrise.  . .but it is well worth the effort.  It is a holy time for me, when the light comes to the world, whether it it is blinding and joyful or shy and gentle.  Either way, the light proclaims, a new chance  for us. 

The contents of a day, can vary greatly. . .and not all are filled with pleasantries, but many are.  Most often, there is something to be glad about and most often, we needn’t “break a sweat” finding it.  More than ever, we must strive for hopeful things.

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Currently, with the whole planet, unsteady, I have thought a lot about this subject.  I have noticed, in the last decade, long before  this pandemic-(that I never imagined) that society in general seemed to be getting further and further away from authenticity.    In some way, we were already donning masks.  We were also already building  fortresses, which hid our truths.  No one wanted to admit they were older or made  just an average salary.  We validated our faults, instead of owning them and  striving to improve ourselves.  What a fruitless and tiring and complicated way of living.  Because we know, we can  not trust our own motives, we are  also, now a suspicious lot, as well.   

Now the present circumstances are trying, for all of us.  The headlines are always grim.   . . and what is yet to come, many fear.  I so wished I had a remedy for all-but I “know” less now than ever and  I realise  that   fully since the “shock” never gets chance to wear off.  In such conditions, I must cling to what  few things I have found steadfast -and “doctor” my self.

 In light of this,I make it my business to  fill my heart with all the goodness I can.  As a prime example, the neighbors have the loveliest  Mimosa tree blooming.  It is as happy a shade of  pink as I have ever seen.  I have several myself, on the rabbitpatch, but none that delightful color – and they all perfume, the evening air, til I scarce want to go in.  I always linger til the first stars appear.  The splendor of star shine has not diminished nor has the golden light of the moon that cracks through  the darkness of night.  

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The oldest barn has a bay that  leads to several small stables.  The boxer and I were walking through  early one morning, when we both heard a “tinkling sound”.  It reminded me of a small music box.  The boxer looked up-and was on high alert . . so I did too.  There, peeking over the top of a nest made of mud, was the  sweetest little face!  How could I have forgotten the return of  the darling swallows?   I appreciate the common swallows that brighten my walk.  Swallows do not have the best reputation, for they are liable to swoop at anyone, who dares to get near their nests . . .but they mate for life, and return dependably, to the same place each year to raise their brood.  The swallows and I are on good terms and  so they cheerfully allow me to adore their family. 

 

The “country went to town again”, for on Sunday, I left for Raleigh.  The rabbitpatch was tidy, and I fixed several dishes for Christian and a cake, so he wouldn’t starve.  (I can not stop myself from this practice.)

Sydney has mostly worked from home, since Ryan was born-and then the pandemic.  There was a meeting she needed to attend in person, on Monday, hence my visit.  Of course,  I was happy to go and not even the drive hindered my enthusiasm.  

I stayed til Thursday.  Ryan was as bonnie as ever.  He is a calm, happy child and so loving.  I took him on several strolls.  Once we got caught in a sudden rain.  The cool drops fell on us and we neither minded.  One day, we climbed several hills, on our stroll.  The sunshine was hot, when we traveled the unshaded  patches of sidewalks.  The humidity was low, that day and so the sky was especially blue.  I never see a soul in the yards, and I wondered for a short while, if we were the only ones left in the world.  But there, in the far distance, I caught  a glimpse of a dog walker, and so that which I imagined, was not the case. 

Sydneys’ mom, came for a visit and how good it was for us to dote on little Ryan, together.  She stayed with me, while Sydney was at the meeting.  Between the two of us, Ryan was content and dry when his mom arrived home. 

Each evening, we all enjoyed a meal together.  I tried to fix dishes, that I knew were their favorites.  Sydney got her macaroni & cheese, Brant got his brunswick stew and we all enjoyed brownies – both, chocolate and strawberry batches.

One day, it was Thursday, and so I collected my things and left at mid afternoon.  It was a beautiful day -clear and bright.  I tucked a picture of Ryan sleeping contentedly in his mothers’ arm, deep in my heart , to savor on the trip home.

I did something brave . . .for this “scared rabbit” anyway . . .I took a different route home!- and lived to tell about it!  That awful twisting turning detour was still in place, and I had heard Sydney talk about driving through a town called Zebulon.  and there at the intersection, just before the road construction, was a sign marking the road to Zebulon.  The GPS simply said “Drive ten miles” and did not seem alarmed in the least.  Ten miles later, I was on the highway to the “rabbitpatch”.   

Christian had made a pot of coffee, to welcome me home and the boxer pranced about, as we carried things in.  I looked around the tidy yard and noticed the lilies were blooming    – and the roses had clearly caught a “second wind”.

After supper, the boxer and I took a walk around the territory.  I spied a little, spotted  fawn .  He was walking around the yard as if he too was taking account of  such an evening.  I hushed the boxer, and he became as still as a  statue.   The fawn showed no sign of distress and did not hurry on his way back to the young woods.  I was sure his mother watched in terror, from the shadows. 

The corn had grown a least a foot, I noticed and the cotton field was green with plants in neat rows.  How lovely, it all looked in the amber rays of the sunset.   . . ‘  . . .even the very old and shabby barn .  

 

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Besides knowing the rabbitpatch was bound to need tending, besides missing my  son, Christian-and the boxer, it was Fathers’ Day on Sunday.  Mama and I had made plans to share a meal, as this was the first observance since Daddy passed in April.

April seems like yesterday . . .and sometimes it seems like  years ago.  I think of Daddy  all the time.  I thought of him at the beach, last week.  I think of him when I am watching birds – or the grandchildren.  He seems to be alive in my thoughts and I am likely to say “Isn’t the day so beautiful, Daddy?” as I am hanging clothes on the line.  I feel like he is with me and that death could not part us . . . but turbo vp安卓版2.2.2 will not allow me to saunter through the day without  facing the harsh truth  . .that Daddy really died.  

I planned the meal carefully, of Mamas’ favorite dishes, omitting any reminders of what Daddy would have wanted.  Maybe next year, we will be able to eat barbecue . . .but this year we are having ham and potato salad, garden peas and cheese biscuits.  

If you have ever had a loss, then you know that the first year of holidays, is always the hardest.  Knowing this fully, I made up my mind, to rise with gladness on Sunday and start cooking, which is a favorite hobby for me.  That worked for at least a few minutes.  It didn’t help, that large and slow drops of rain fell, outside.  I tried to console myself, remembering that Daddy was well, now and not suffering . .that  I had  my Daddy for sixty-one years and that he was now, in the Presence of God,  for “goodness sakes!”  It did comfort me to consider all of that, but I did not ponder a single thing as I peeled the potatoes.

While everything cooked, I toured the rabbitpatch. The Cape Jasmine is in full bloom.  I intend to root some of them, this year,  It was not a good year for irises, but the hydrangeas are beautiful   The  territory is as green as it has ever been, on this first day of summer.  Along the edge of the woods, the rose-of Sharons bloom and the so do the fragrant butterfly bushes.  There were also the wild honeysuckle vines cascading  their delightful tendrils of blossoms.  The boxer stopped whenever I did, to look closely at a blossom, but his eyes darted here and there-on high alert . . . just in case, a wild rabbit dared cross our path.

I love dogs-but mine especially.  Cash is as loyal a friend, as can be.  He does not care about trends or pomp or status . . .or any of the trivial things, that humans tend to dwell on.   . .therefore, he does not wear clothes or have his nails painted.  I like dogs, just the way they are, as he likes me the same way.  He does not care, that I am letting my silver hair shine or that my skin is weathering daily.  He does not base his admiration for me on my salary, nor have an opinion  about my faults.  A dog just loves and serves . . .and they are good company.

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The first days of summer are wonderful.  The June flowers are in their glory and oh how, they sweeten the air – and there are fireflies twinkling in the evening.  More and more, the stars  increase in numbers and the smell of charcoal tinges the evening air, for someone is having a picnic.  Meanwhile, the rabbits are feasting on clover and wild berries in the “enchanting evenings”  of early summer. 

I like to bring in bouquets of gardenias,-and lilies pair well with “Queen Annes’ lace.  I always had some sort of arrangement for those Sunday Dinners”, which now seem like affairs of  “olden times”.  We never seem to know which things will become precious memories.  We are prone to trying to create events that will surely be golden moments, but the truth is often, it is practices, that we remember.  The habits  that seem so ordinary, at the time, and surely not worthy of lasting a lifetime,  somehow do.  They are sweet and tender  recollections, without need of embellishments.

I know for me,  that I still remember playing in the shade of two massive oak trees, in months like June.  I remember hanging out clothes with Mama, and picking strawberries and setting up housekeeping in the barn, when it rained . . . and the sound of my maternal grandmothers, voice, though I have not heard it in more than fifty years now.  

 

 Not every memory  mat evoke gratitude, nor loveliness.   I still shudder  remembering the last year of my fathers’ life.  . . but I can also remember the tireless care my mother gave him, the bravery my sisters’ mustered and the compassion of neighbors and friends.

The task at hand, seems to me, that we ought to hold on to, what was beautiful.

Elizabeth City, is  just an hour from the coast. It is no wonder, that many residents of the town by the laughing river, have cottages by the Atlantic sea.  Wills’ family lends their cottage to he and Jenny for a certain week each year.  This past Friday, we left in the rain, for the time by the ocean.  BT兔子软件下载|BT兔子磁力搜索引擎安卓版下载-小白网:4天前 - BT兔子APP是一款非常好用的磁力搜索软件,软件拥有独家的搜索引擎,功能强大,在这...迅游手游加速器 便捷生活 下载 爱吾游戏宝盒 便捷生活 下载 狂玩...

After we were settled, everyone relaxed.  Will and Brynn took a nap.  I began reading.  Just a bit later, I heard a slight commotion and it was Tres and Sarah, much to my delight.  I was surprised so pleasantly, as I had asked Tres, the night before, if maybe he would come for a day, at least.  He fumbled through the conversation, and I knew he was so busy with some very complicated studies, so I did not press him to commit.  Now, here they were with luggage!  Everyone laughed at my surprise.  We had dinner at the cottage, for we are all still cautious and do not go out.  Afterwards, once again, the cottage was quiet. . .and once again, I was reading.  I did not even hear the next bit of racket-but suddenly Jenny came in, holding Ryan!

I was  stunned and could not make “heads nor tails” of it!  Brant and Sydney tumbled in seconds later . . .and they had luggage too!!  As it turns out, Jenny had arranged the whole affair, and all had rearranged their lives to make the gathering possible-a belated “Happy Birthday to me”!  I was one happy rabbit, to say the least.

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The next morning, the rain fell steadily as we had our coffee.  One by one, the grandchildren woke and what sweet morning expressions, they wore.  Lyla is the early bird and awakes with “great expectations” every day.  Brynn and Ryan smiled shyly as each of us reaffirmed our love for them.  Each were greeted with “Good Morning, I love you.”  I cooked breakfast and listened to the happy chatter of  my clan-not one person complained about the out of season coolness and the consistent rain.

The days passed-every one wetter than the day before.  The men went to pick up carry out food, as most restaurants were practicing this service.  Tres found a deck of cards . Brant found little projects to do.  Sydney did a fancy hairstyle for Lyla and Brynn, did her best to “mother” little Ryan.  We feasted on fresh baked breads with Irish butter, gourmet cupcakes, and doughnuts Will picked up from a local bakery.  We ate sea food cooked various ways and were constantly amused in the antics of the grandchildren.  One of the things that warmed my heart was watching the way my family loved one another.  That is the purest form of gold, I think.  May it always be so, I prayed. 

Brant had a birthday during our “holiday”.  That was the day that Will, bought the doughnuts.  I told the story of that day.  It was a Sunday, and I told Mama that I was not going to church, as I felt a bit “off”.  Brants’ dad was working.  Mama promptly declared that she wasn’t going to church either.  She came to sit with me.  I hadn’t a single sign that I had heard about.  I just didn’t feel right.  There was nothing to “time” . . so Daddy planned a cook out!  I remember remarking that I could not believe he was planning a picnic at such a time.  I did not eat a bite, but showered and put on my favorite maternity dress -just in case.  By one pm, I left for the hospital and Brant was born at four pm.  A few days later, I brought him home-and showed him the Mimosa tree in full feathery bloom, before, I went in the house.  

It never did stop raining, but on several occasions, there would be a brief lull between showers.  At those times, all scurried to the beach.  The wind blew fiercely and was so chilling, that no one lingered.  They did manage to get a few photographs, before the next batch of clouds gathered.  

The rain and cool weather was not the calamity, that it may seem.  The cottage was quite adequate.  Sometimes, it was lively and sometimes it was quiet.  It was always happy.  So many wonderful things happened, in the absence of clocks .  There were maternal conversations, shared by Sidney and Jenny and everyone napped with some child at some point.  The clouds had a fair share of “silver linings”.

“Parting is not such sweet sorrow.”   .  . .there is nothing sweet about it, to me.   . .but the day came anyway.  It was raining as we packed and  as we cleaned the house and as we loaded up.  We all promised to let one another know, when we arrived at our homes.

I have done a lot of thinking since the trip.  I realise more than ever, the joy of being loved.  To love and to be loved, is all its’ cracked up to be.   Love is the tie that binds, after all.  Jenny, orchestrated the entire thing , quite craftily, I must say, for she knew, I would love nothing better.  My sons , then cancelled plans readily, to accommodate such a venture.   I am completely humbled by their generosity and filled up with gratitude.

Something happened to me, during the rainy days by the sea but words fail me when I try to name it.  My gratitude increased greatly in a single bound, it seemed.   . . but it was more than that.  I felt content, which is more than happy.  I was completely satisfied and void of want.   I reflected deeply on my life, and I did not find it lacking.  I have no ambition to move from such a place, either.   

I am not immune to desires, even in light of this, but “sitting in a storehouse, counting out my money” pales in comparison, to  authentic “gold and silver” which does not diminish in value on the whims of society.  I  must do better to love bigger and better.  I should remember that all acts of kindness, compassion, generosity and forgiveness stem from  love.  It is so easy to love my family, but  might I strive to remember that all folks are sons and daughters, when you think about it.  I will spend some time considering this lofty and complicated subject.   . .meanwhile,   I still have high hopes for a small cottage  -and a good pair of boots.

Lo and behold!  I drove to Raleigh!  It came about “for the love” of Brant, Sydney and Ryan”.   This news may not seem “earth shattering” but I dare say, that   regular readers are shocked, for I have made no secret of my dislike of driving on “roads less traveled”, in my scant collection of journeys. 

I am a careful driver and thankfully, do not suffer from “road rage”.   . .instead I am fearful.  I am scared the old car will break down on a desolate strip of highway or I will get eternally lost, and never be heard from again  . . or be on the road after dark!.   . .oh what doom lies ahead, I wonder. 

Brant and Sydney  were moving and little Ryan  needed his “Honeybee” to care for him as they “set up housekeeping”.  Besides,  that I wanted to  master the trip to Raleigh, just as I had the road to Elizabeth City.  So, Brant installed a GPS on my car and off I went into a world gone wild, on top of everything else. 

I was determined on Wednesday morning, to rise above and beyond my  grim expectations .  The morning was glorious and Sydneys’ mom called right off to cheer me on.  Traffic was light on the long stretch of highway, and so at some point, I called Mama and Delores, to let them know where I was -just in case I went missing, they would know where I was last.   I told Delores that all was well . . .and I was almost really cheerful . . .until I saw the flashing “DETOUR” sign.  

Yes,  I had the GPS on and yes, the detour route was clearly marked, but how unsettling, still!  At least, the landscape was appealing.  There were beautiful rolling hills and elderberry was blooming everywhere.  Some horses were grazing in a pasture by a small church. Pink mimosa blossoms dotted the woodlands and oh how lovely, I thought.   Somehow, I lost the panic and decided I was going to be fine, after all.

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I stayed six days.  Sydney worked on putting things away, for there was no shortage of boxes to unpack.  She is a meticulous person and even watching her  fold the  laundry is like watching an artist at work.  Her linen closet should be featured in a magazine.  She had taken great effort in the guest room, and it showed.  Her kitchen was tidy and well stocked, too.  She worked in the house while Brant was at work and Ryan and I strolled the community in the capital city.  

The first day, I called out to Sydney, not to worry, for I was used to strolling an hour or more with Lyla and Brynn. . . but I had not taken the hills in Raleigh into account.  Within thirty minutes, I turned back.  Going uphill, was tiring   -and so was going downhill!  I learned very quickly, the route with stretches of level sidewalks. 

In the evenings, while Ryan slept, Brant worked in the garage and I cooked supper.  

Sydney had a birthday, and so between the chores, we celebrated.  Her mom came with a box of cupcakes (the best I have ever had) and in the evening, we all celebrated with a special meal.  I just love everyone I have met in Sydneys’ family.  

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The days flew by as they always do when I am in the presence of loved ones.  This was the longest time that I had ever spent with little Ryan.  I can say whole heartedly,  that he is a happy child and so loving.  Brant and Sydney are wonderful parents and they too are happy- all of this is worth its’ weight in gold.   After all, of all the things we hope for our children, happiness matters most.

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Before long, I was on the detour route.  There was the elderberry welcoming me back-and wishing me well.  The rolling hills made the road ahead look wrinkled.  The fields where the winter wheat had  been an emerald green, a few months ago, now was a gleaming sea of slight, golden waves.  Then, over one of the soft hills . . .there were the horses grazing by the little church.

Once, on the highway, I called Mama and Jenny to let them know that I was truly on the way home.

I am not liking this new way of posting! Until further notice . . .pray without ceasing for me! Best wishes Michele

A suitcase is a handy thing.  Miss Claudia (Wills’ mom and my friend) gave me several and I have put them to good use-especially recently.  I had not even unpacked from my week long visit to Elizabeth City, when Brant announced that he and Sydney were coming home this weekend . . . with our Ryan!  I quickly sorted out my things and headed to Mamas’ to spend the night there. We had supper there while we all adored little Ryan.  He is a merry child and friendly . . .and so adorable.  What a happy time it was!

The next morning, Tres  and Sarah came, for it was he and Sarahs’ birthday weekend.   Sarah and Jenny have been friends for over a decade, so when Tres and Sarah started seeing one another socially . . .well, we were all thrilled . . and what a shock it was to learn that Sarah and Tres share the same birthday!  Will, Jenny and the little girls came too.  We had a big breakfast and then a delightful visit.  I was in “high cotton” having the three grandchidren all at once.   . .and my children . . .and Mama! 

 

On Monday, I left for Elizabeth City.  We had all sorts of plans.  Tres and Sarahs’  actual birthdays were on Tuesday, so there was a special supper on that day.  I am still not over the thrill, of Tres living in Elizabeth City. There were several tasks to tackle too -and there was that big laughing river, inviting us to picnic.  

It rained  every day.  “Rain or shine”, the dinners went off without a hitch, as planned.  The tasks were all completed . . .but the picnic would have to wait.  Lyla and I read in the afternoons, while Brynn napped. til at last, we finished Charlottes’ Web.  Lyla was so concerned about the fate of 兔子加速器ios that she did not take notice of  Charlottes’ decline, and so Lyla cried for a while about the tragedy of poor Charlotte.   I did too, though I have read this book to one child, and then another, over the decades.  There is a quote in the book, that struck a chord  . . . .

“You have been my friend .  That in itself, is a tremendous thing.”

Will and I had just had a conversation about friends.  We both concluded that, in youth we gather.  We gather all sorts of possessions and gadgets. . .but we also gather friends.  Sadly, many only remain for a short while.  People move, after all.  Sometimes, what was so very valuable, in the beginning, may not remain so.  Some things, even friendships, are often temporary.  Now, I find no joy, in that fact . . but it is so.  I can also honestly declare, that I still love many folks, that I no longer engage with, for I do not even know where they are.   . .but I love them, just the same.  I also have friends, that I have had for decades.  . .and that is a “tremendous thing”.  With my own youth, having faded long ago, I felt a bit melancholy about the prospect of “gathering”-and then it dawned on me . . .I have made a new friend!  Her name is Elaine.  We met through Miss Thelma, Jennys’ ninety six year old neighbor-  another friend of mine, for about five years now.  Elaine and I have been talking a lot as of lately.  At first, it was about the care of Miss Thelma.  The next thing you know, we were talking about our families, our childhood and eventually chickens!  Now, I miss Elaine, when we do not chat, for a few days. That is the way of friendship. . . and so Charlotte was right. . .and I was wrong to ever think,  my gathering days were long past.  I may not collect old china anymore, nor do I need stuff to fill a barn, but I will always have room in my life for dear ones.

Now, the rain did not halt Lylas’ fun, for she loves her doll houses and has quite a community, composed of rabbits, pigs, a royal family and dolls.  They must all be put to bed at night and awakened the next day.  Lyla considers this serious business, that she must tend to-or else, something dreadful will surely happen.  One night. Will was up with a flashlight (for the pigs live in a house on the back porch) for Lyla to put them to bed.  She had forgotten them earlier and was highly disturbed upon her remembrance of her beloved pigs, unable to dream in their little beds.

Brynn is busy, trying to say every word she hears.  She has a soft voice with a high pitch that seems to ring like a tiny bell-and most especially, when she says “Bee”.   Her favorite thing to play with, is whatever Lyla has.  When she is told “No”, no matter how kindly, it breaks her heart.  She covers her face and wilts to the floor, slowly and sorrowfully.  If Brynn is out of sight . . she is liable to be anywhere!  On a table, in a cabinet or anywhere there is water.  It is quite likely, that in mid sentence, one is prone to stop and ask “Where is Brynn?”

On Friday, I thought it was Thursday-all day until I checked out the covid 19 numbers for North Carolina, for the day.  It was almost supper time, by then.  I do not understand the passage of time.  I had arrived on Monday, been there a few days-and suddenly, it was Friday! and June loomed just days ahead! I try to make every day count, for even a single day, does become  part of the content of a life, but no matter my effort, I am always startled by the fleeting  departure of time. 

Now, the covid 19 numbers have been dramatically increasing in our state .   One county even made the national news, for the consistent doubling of daily cases.   Still,  I can not complain, thinking of the plight of others.  Folks gathered in large numbers for the Memorial Day holiday.  Where they went afterwards their events, remains to be seen.   . .but we will likely soon know.  We all remain careful.  Jenny has only been to a strawberry patch-mostly our family, can all say  that same sort of thing.   For this reason, we trust one anothers’ company.  Of course, we are in a very unique situation.  Will works from home, as I was doing, till school ended on Friday.  Tres takes his classes online and we all order everything needed.  I say this because, I do not want anyone to think that I am taking the conditions lightly.  

Now tomorrow, the publisher (WordPress) will introduce a new way of doing things.  I just barely learned how to post lessons on line.  . .and order groceries!   The elders used to say, “if its’ not one thing, its’ another!”  They were right.

 

 

 

 

 

 

What a bright, clear day came to the rabbitpatch this morning.  The young leaves on the old trees are a jade green-a color particular to the season.  Now, shade falls where sunlight used to.   A bed of watery blue irises brighten the entrance to the  drive and roses bloom everywhere.   . .but it is cold-and windy, again.  So cold that a scant frost fell last night, in the  corners of the countryside.  It as been a fortnight, since I last wrote in the diary . . .and a few things have happened.

Mothers’ Day was a quiet affair.  My sister Delores came with my niece, Dana.  Connie is a nurse, and she had to work.  After a nice meal, we gave Mama a new television. Thankfully, Tres is coming on Tuesday, to make the thing work.  Jenny said Lyla wished a mother robin “Happy Mothers’ Day”.  The robins are nesting in a bush by Lylas ‘back door.

 Until then, I am still cutting vines-this time along the edge of the young woods.  I will also cut branches that hang low enough to hinder mowing.  Here and there, I smell the wild honeysuckle, as I work. The place is full of privet too, and their fragrances implore me  to work happily.  I am in good company, they remind me. I have never been lonely in any patch of woodland.

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With the abundance of strawberries, I made strawberry biscuits for breakfast, one morning.  I even made a glaze for them.  The idea of strawberry biscuits, had to be a good one, I thought. I prepared the strawberries the night before and rose early to make the dough.  While they baked, I made a glaze.  The house was filled with an aroma, that made you want to get up . . but the biscuits turned out “just fair”.  Well, we all  agreed they were good enough to eat, but nobody ate two.  

It was picnic weather, for a few days.  Jenny, Lyla and Brynn,  ate under the beloved willow tree, one day.  I was visiting with Miss Thelma, who lives just across the street, and how pleasant it was to watch “the picnic”, we both agreed.

That same afternoon, Jenny put up a birdbath.  The sparkling water beckoned to the bird community and soon a robin, then a mockingbird and later a chattering blackbird ,  all visited to drink and bathe.  I felt quite privileged to witness birds splashing in water.  It was a cheerful moment and their antics quite amused me. It seemed like a long time since , I have taken such a liberty.  For in that moment, I wasn’t obligated to anything.  Nothing had happened, nor was expected to, in that brief span of minutes.  

I make great effort to lead a “quiet and peaceable” life.  The constant ruckus, in this world, in the most ordinary of  times –  and long before this pandemic ,  demands that I seek serenity, just to maintain some sort of balance.  Sometimes, it is just not enough to take notice,  sometimes I must stop everything and abandon all, for things like watching birds take pleasure in water.  Great thinkers have  always declared this truth, but I  found it was difficult to  completely clear my mind of any thought, when I attempted to do so.  Oddly, on this day, I seemed to fall in to this “place”.   “A little bird told me . . .” seems to ring true, now.

Meanwhile, a storm came through and “made itself at home” and  lingered for days.  Wind blew and rain fell until at last it was cold . . again.   Brynn and I took to the porch and watched it rain.  The young willow swayed and its’ long tendrils bore the brunt force with ease and grace. (A willow tree never loses its’ poise.)  The dullness of the day warranted the streetlights to light and the willow seemed lit up with twinkling lights.  Brynn clapped her little hands and laughed in delight at the spectacle of light and wind on a willow tree.

We all woke to rain on Friday.  The world outside the window was drenched and soggy.  We were all pleasantly surprised when by mid morning, the sun was shining.  Lyla donned her rain boots and we took off for at long last, a visit with the laughing river.  We were so happy to see our long last friends, the little barking dogs on their balcony.  We had not seen them in months and I worried something  unpleasant had happened-but alas! there they were on this day, scolding us for walking by.  How glad we were to know all was well with them, even if they are grouchy.

I left in the late afternoon. heading back to tend to the business of a rabbitpatch.  Brant and Sydney are coming on Saturday night and so we will share a meal at Mamas’.  I will get to hold little Ryan, for our family could care less if the “state opens up”-we are not taking any chances,  so we continue to  proceed with  great caution, . . . and I suspect when little Ryan is tucked in my arms . . .it will all have been gladly worth my while.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This may be the year that I will never remember clearly.  It is May . . and it is cold!  I am sitting at my beloved “morning table”  bundled up like it is January.  The daffodils bloomed in February, school closed in March and with Daddy being sick in April-we sure did not hunt for eggs this year.  I admit-and everyone that knows me, will agree, that “time” in general is not a strength for me  – but I feel totally disoriented- and this time, it is not due to my own fault.

I was going to paint a table and chairs today-but that cold wind howling outside my window, may make me put that off.  Of course, it is early morning, as I write this and so there is still hope for a milder afternoon.  It all started with me having time to clean up my act at the rabbitpatch.  I have an old porch out back by the old field.  It is a small porch, that was once attached to my grandmothers house.  I  saved that porch, and use it like a gazebo.  It has a roof and I have sat there many times, pondering, praying and gazing at the woods and field.  I love the view, for there is not a man made thing in sight.  I thought to paint the old table and chairs today . . .if possible.  My dear friends, of several decades are coming for an open air visit ,  in the next week or so, hence the table getting painted.  I might need to just use a tablecloth!

With all of the traipsing around the rabbitpatch, I feel like I am walking down memory lanes.  There was a time when, every stable was filled and chickens roamed the territory.  Tame rabbits played in outside pens, in the sunshine.  The small pasture had a miniature horse and a small herd of miniature goats.  I did buy the chickens, but every other animal had landed here, because mostly, children had “outgrown” them.  I got the reputation of having a “rescue farm” and so when a horse trailer pulled up unannounced, I didn’t bat an eye.  I really loved that time, but when Lyla was born . . well that changed everything.  Nobody wanted to feed horses, goats, chickens, a cat, a dog and twenty two rabbits, while I was away.  My dear neighbor, Susan did try, but the goats got out a time or two, after all.  . .兔子加速器

Miniature goats are adorable.  They are loving little things, but they do eat roses.  I had several , when a farmer called wanting me to take three more.  He lived but a few miles away, so one day Christian and I headed in his direction, to bring home the little goats.  We went in the barn and there they were in a stall with the biggest goat, that I had ever seen.  He started snorting and pawing and bleating so loudly, it was deafening.  The farmer, slight in size acted like nothing was going on, in particular, and chatted away as he gathered a rope.  He explained cheerfully, that he would hold the giant, mad goat, while Christian and I caught the little ones.  I was in a state of fear, about entering that stall. . .so was Christian.  That goat had a rack of horns, the size of Atlanta, on top of everything else.

Have you ever chased a goat?  They are quick and nimble.  They can jump and dart on a dime.  That is what we were up against-and a goat we named “the devil”, right off.  It was a harrowing ordeal and it didn’t help that the slight farmer was red in the face, gasping and yelling out,  periodically, “Hurry up!  I can’t hold him much longer!”  Somehow, Christian and I caught two of them and made it out shaken, but alive.  The farmer was unratteled and joked, that “he thought we were country folks?”  I told him he could keep the other little goat.

Kyle came home from work a few hours later and loved our new additions.  He was quite disappointed, and could not believe that we had the heart, to leave the last one.  Christian and I didn’t say a word,  for we did feel guilty about that.  The next thing, I knew, Kyle was in the truck and yelled out that he was going to get the goat.  Christian started to tell Kyle, about the conditions, but I stopped him.

An hour or so later, Kyle came back, white as  a sheet, holding the little goat.  He had faced “the devil” and won.  On top of the awful circumstances, he endured, the moment he got his hands on the little goat, the thing stiffened and toppled over, like a wooden toy!  Kyle said he thought he had killed it, but the thing sprang back to life and took off again!  The poor farmer was in pain it seemed and had resorted to cursing, but Kyle heard him say “It is a fainting goat!!”  “Fainting goats”  do not crumple, they do not wilt, they simply fall over, like a doll would.  They remain rigid and even their face looks frozen in expression.

Visitors always fell in love with the herd of little  goats and would say things like “oh, I bet they keep your ditch banks clean.”  “No,” I said, “they just eat the roses.”

The goats were always liable to create a rucus.  Once, during a Sunday dinner, I heard the sound of calamity, at the front of the house.  Christian ran to the front door, to see what was happening.  Several of the little goats, were being chased by a dog and bolted past him, galloping through the house,  I do not know why, I realised what was happening, but I ran to the back door, opened it and they never lost their stride, bounding the steps and right back to their stable.  Mama and Daddy were dazed, when I asked them, if they needed anything, while I was up.  It was always the goats.

The goat stables are empty now, and the blue roses, that I painted, on them, have faded some, but believe or not, I remember the goats, fondly.   . . .but not enough, to do it all again.

 

 A fair  morning, when the birds are singing and little blossoms are making promises . . .and a soft breeze sweeps the territory  . . .beckons to me  -to linger, there in it.  The yard is a bit uncivilized now, for it has not been mowed in weeks.  I love the wildness .   I may be the only one, that does, but some how the wildflowers that that spring up, seem grateful and glad, that I dare to let them bloom.    The only things, I really quarrel with are poison ivy and thorned vines. 

In the evenings, I have been spotting the first of the rabbit community, appearing.  They are a skittish lot and likely to startle me, darting from under a garden bench.  The boxer is on high alert and bravely defends me .  He has never harmed a one of them, but chases them playfully, back to the young woods, that the rabbits call “home”.  There are fireflies too. 

June has always been the time of fireflies.  Country folks take notice of such things.  These last few years , things seem to bloom and grow “out of season”.  . .and it seems the peach tree is easily fooled.  I can not blame the lovely peach tree,  nor the fireflies, for I  think, that time flies whether you are having fun or not.

 

Now I do not measure time,  by keeping up with minutes.  I like to do things til, I am finished or do things “for a while”. A sundial would be the best clock for me.  I know, by shadows when early morning, isn’t “early” anymore. ..and they also tell me when to start supper.  Of course I spent my childhood outside and so such things are quite natural to me.  I keep track of the calendar, for the bill collectors are  reliable folks.  And now . . .all of a sudden, “they say -” it is May!

May is called “the sweetest month”.  I am fickle, but for now I declare it is so.  The iris blooms and the cape jasmine will soon follow.  The birds sing merrily in the morning and the fragrance of the  wild privet fills the air.  Clover is starting to bloom .  I love the sweet, green scent of clover.  May is a wonderful time to bring a baby home, too.  My own Tres was born in May, on a mild, bright Sunday morning.   I could not wait for the sun to shine on him and  so we stood for a while, in the sunlight of May, before we went in the house.  I always remember that in May.

The rabbitpatch  territory is almost tidy!  Every day, I do a chore or two.  The tasks range from trimming the roses in the “Quiet Garden”.  to stacking tin and yes, cutting vines, AGAIN.  I have stepped in fire ants (several times), and have scratches from thorns, everywhere.  Still, the rabbitpatch looks “tended” and I declare it may have been the geraniums, that sparked my heart, to even begin!  

I was shocked, when my sister, Delores, mentioned that 兔子 turbo 加速器, was this Sunday.  I should have known, for I had noticed my “Mothers’ Day” rose is loaded with blossoms, ready to unfurl, at any moment.  I have had this  “wild ” rose for almost a decade.  Peggy, a friend and neighbor, of Mama, saw it growing on a ditch bank, on her farm and sent it to me.  Every year, the bush,  I named “Miss Peggy” blooms profusely . . on Mothers’ Day.  How lovely, it looks on the old plcket fence, with its’ tendrils spilling on to the grass, splashing pink blossoms, like a joyful fountain.

Hence, Delores’ announcement, we have plans to celebrate our Mama, on Sunday.  I do hope, we will “brighten her day” for the last few weeks, have been like none before them, for her.  She puts forth a gallant effort, but she has lost “the love of her life” – a love affair, that lasted sixty four years altogether.  In addition, Mama has had to face all the” business” , that comes with someone, dying . . in the “foreign”ways to her, of  this modern world – and the corona virus even complicates that.  Can you imagine, marrying the boy, that you crushed on, when you were fourteen?  You move from your parents’ home, to marry him, a few short years later-and think how the world has changed since 1958.  You are married for 62 years-and for the first time ever, you live alone.   . .well. that story, belongs to Mama, 

I think all us feel like a part of us has “gone missing”.  You feel “lacking” in some indescribable way.    I told Jenny, that it seems like our family, has been  “fractured”.  Still, though . . .I have a peace -“that does pass understanding”. 

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It is a good thing, that I am odd, in this way, for a rural setting does not  come with sidewalks full of dog walkers and strolling couples.  If by chance, there is a siren, then folks stop what they are doing, for we are not used to commotion.

Of course, country dwellers do have large landscapes and big skies.  I can not imagine how I would fare cooped up in a third story apartment.   . .nor owning a small business, in such times.  . . nor having no one to miss seeing.  So, I can not complain.  . .most especially in the company of sparrows . . .and “Peggy” blooming her heart out.