Not much energy, today, and so I have finished up with cooking the week’s meat, but now have curled up in bed, trying to get warm, again. For the time being, not much thought of writing. Maybe I will feel rested when I wake up.
For a while I have been tucking photos into a folder—favorite places, favorite scenes. Tree branches in my home town, my parents out for a Thanksgiving Day buffet with the family, a few neighbors playing football in the street in front of our house….
My mother, who was from Iowa, bought the double lot with her severance pay when she separated from the Navy after World War II, in Minnesota, in the town where Dad was born and raised. Most of my childhood, on the other side of our back fence was a pasture with horses in it. Now there’s residential development the width of the original size of the town, I think. My dad was also stationed in the Pacific Theater, but with the Army.
On the street in front of our house, there have been lots of motorbikes and skateboarders in the summer and more football in the fall. Lots of kids and lots of noise, parents out and doing things with their children. Backyard barbecues and fires, company invited for the evening, people sitting around talking. A lot of music. I’m allergic to combustion byproducts, but when the wind is right, I can sit outside in my gazebo with the windows open on the lee side and enjoy the sounds of people who are happy spending time with one another.
And for myself, both winter and summer provide beauty in their own fashion.
In the wintertime, on a sunny day, I can sit in warmth in the gazebo with quilts behind me and over my lap. Al made the gazebo with double windows all the way around, and there is a space heater to take the chill off and a utility light so that I can read a paper book, if I choose, instead of using my tablet. He built the gazebo in the first place because watching thunderstorms sitting on folding chairs in the open doorway of the utility shed ended up with our getting soaked to the knees (and farther up than that, if the thunder was loud and the dogs needed to sit in our laps). Also, from the shed, we could only look to the northeast, which isn’t where the storms come from.
Once we had quit going out into the countryside (Skywarn volunteers with our ham radio club), we still can sit out there and listen to the weather net on our handhelds. We’ve got a nice, tall antenna out back, otherwise, and we have the other radios hooked up to it.
Al’s back home, again, from his shopping, and we’ve decided that we really don’t want to go out for supper, tonight, so I can take a nap, now, or see if I can get another stanza written on that sonnet. (I wonder if I still have a copy of “On the Stupidity of Poetry,” which is one of the most recent sonnets I’ve written. Sometime in the 1960s.)
Updated to add: And then I took a 5+ hour nap.