Sunday, November 17, 2013

the storms move through

It is so very unusual to wake up and hear that you're under a tornado watch in November. And then to hear the winds outside, hitting the farmhouse with a whiplash of rain. And to see the basement foundation leak puddles of water. To turn on the lights during the day, to watch Isis absolutely refuse to go out.

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Such an odd Sunday!

Breakfast -- that's fine. It's always fine.

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After, I stack the table high with work books, but it's more for effect than for hard core work. My mind drifts. It's brutal to have a computer at your elbow when your mind drifts. Brutal and dangerous, too, to be told by your sweetie -- oh, do what you want with our trip! That and a computer -- well now, work progress is going to be slow.

Toward evening we are ready to haul ourselves outdoors. The winds are less intense, the rains have passed.

We have errands to do -- Farm and Fleet, where Ed buys his replacement winter jacket (no, it's not cool and quaint: more like stiffly practical and cheap). Woodman's supermarket, where we restock in  life's essentials. And then -- bowling. We go bowling.

It's Ed's idea:  we haven't moved at all since the bad weather set in. More importantly perhaps (from his perspective), the bowling alley is close to both Farm and Fleet and Woodman's and -- it offers bowling for three for $15, shoes included, so long as you come on a Sunday after 5. No, we're not three, we're two -- but they'll bend the rules.

Ed and I don't bowl often, but this game is electric! He wins all four rounds, but I am on his heels!

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In truth, I'm not much of a bowler. No one bowls in Poland. Then, too, there's my speed (these days, in addition to your score, you get to know how powerful your throw is) -- Ed routinely shoots that ball at 17+ mph. I'm thrilled if I throw it at 10.

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Stil, each of us has a strike here and there and the gutter balls are fewer than in the past.

And it is good to move again.

Even as the winds are picking up outside again, pushing autumn out, bringing winter closer and closer to the farmhouse doors.