What a pretty day this is! So gentle and calm -- with the softness of September rather than November. A quiet day with no shouts, no great noises.
Breakfast is a little rushed, because I do have a doctor's visit. (That frozen shoulder/elbow begs for a quick assessment.)
(As I pull out of the driveway, the hens look up from their scratch work, asking with their whole bodies, in the way they always do -- where are you going?? I always respond. This time I tell them -- I'll be back soon!)
My doc has me do the needed xray and within a few hours dispenses the needed reassurance that I have not yet given over my upper left joints to arthritis or worse. I tell Ed, radiantly, happily that I have this good fortune of just a small problem rather than a large problem.
He grins: this is what you do -- you imagine you have something, you go to a doctor, get the report that it's actually no big deal and then you feel good! Wow!
I growl at him (but with a wide grin): I needed to make sure!
Of course you did, he nods his head, with understanding if not sympathy. (The man will be one of those who dies early because he refuses to ever believe he is sick or in need of care. Or, he'll be in that special subset of people who will reach 100, because he has absolutely convinced himself that he is incapable of being really ill. They write stories about people like that: the psychology of believing you're fine is, apparently a powerful medicine in its own right.)
And so I am at peace, happy, relaxed. The cheepers look up as I pull in, the sun dapples our pathway to the barn...
The world is unbelievably kind to me.
I work hard on various writing projects. But as I look outside, I note that kind, gentle sky and I think -- one more game! We surely should be heading out for one more tennis game!
We play as the sun recedes quickly toward the horizon. (If you step beyond the court and cross the line of trees, you can see it --- here, take a look.)
Alright. Done for the year. We put away the rackets and warn out balls and drive home as the last sliver of light blazes over the tree line.
Goodnight trees.
Goodnight sweet hens, settling in their respective spots (Ed will pick them up eventually, in his most fatherly way and carry them into the coop).
Goodnight Oreo.
Breakfast is a little rushed, because I do have a doctor's visit. (That frozen shoulder/elbow begs for a quick assessment.)
(As I pull out of the driveway, the hens look up from their scratch work, asking with their whole bodies, in the way they always do -- where are you going?? I always respond. This time I tell them -- I'll be back soon!)
My doc has me do the needed xray and within a few hours dispenses the needed reassurance that I have not yet given over my upper left joints to arthritis or worse. I tell Ed, radiantly, happily that I have this good fortune of just a small problem rather than a large problem.
He grins: this is what you do -- you imagine you have something, you go to a doctor, get the report that it's actually no big deal and then you feel good! Wow!
I growl at him (but with a wide grin): I needed to make sure!
Of course you did, he nods his head, with understanding if not sympathy. (The man will be one of those who dies early because he refuses to ever believe he is sick or in need of care. Or, he'll be in that special subset of people who will reach 100, because he has absolutely convinced himself that he is incapable of being really ill. They write stories about people like that: the psychology of believing you're fine is, apparently a powerful medicine in its own right.)
And so I am at peace, happy, relaxed. The cheepers look up as I pull in, the sun dapples our pathway to the barn...
The world is unbelievably kind to me.
I work hard on various writing projects. But as I look outside, I note that kind, gentle sky and I think -- one more game! We surely should be heading out for one more tennis game!
We play as the sun recedes quickly toward the horizon. (If you step beyond the court and cross the line of trees, you can see it --- here, take a look.)
Alright. Done for the year. We put away the rackets and warn out balls and drive home as the last sliver of light blazes over the tree line.
Goodnight trees.
Goodnight sweet hens, settling in their respective spots (Ed will pick them up eventually, in his most fatherly way and carry them into the coop).
Goodnight Oreo.
