She sat, a fire blazing on the hearth, a cat on the footrest purring, thinking about the past 59 years that she had been witness to. Songs brought memories, objects around the room brought memories, her soul felt calm.
Words from hours ago, words from others who write, missives of thoughts and revelations filled the screen. Rather than write, she read. She responded to what others had crafted. Words configured by others, in music and on the screen reinforced her will to live life as she saw fit, as need and desire required. Few words would flow from her tonight. A night off from crafting to just absorb from what the world had to offer. Good food, a hot fire, the company of animals.
The Next Day
Her nails are dirty and chipped. Not chipped as in the polish has a few missing spots; chipped as in broken and ragged sans all sign of a manicure. She used to have acrylic nails that glowed. It’s Sunday afternoon, the sun has slid down the mountain and the breeze is whispering of a hard freeze tonight. The rain yesterday brought down a lot of the leaves and the colors are more muted. Newly filled and hung feeders are being discovered by the Blue Jays who put up a raucous call. Free Food!! She hopes the bears are satisfied with the bounty of nuts and forest food. A morning of being a responsible adult meant paying bills and cleaning. Stacking wood meant more cleaning but there’s a welcome feeling of having a full larder akin to when the barn smelled sweet with the winter’s worth of hay.
A ride through the woods and sitting in the sun while the horses grazed on the lawn was a peaceful interlude in her solitude. A walk through her woods to the far boundary of ledges was sloppy after the rain the day before.
As she ladled her honey, the fruit of two years labor and love, into the sun-tea pitcher, she thought of her ex-husband, the father of her daughters; not in a “what was I thinking?” or a “I wish I had that back” sort of way. She thought of what she wished she could say to him. “I never stopped loving you, I just had to grow alone for a while.”
Lately, her projects have gone awry. Three that very day were unsolvable; the thermostat was definitely giving up the ghost. The Low Bat message wouldn’t go away for more than a second no matter how many times she installed and reinstalled the batteries. She didn’t fare any better with the lightbulb replacement project on the microwave. The screw turned but the trap door wouldn’t budge. The third and final electrical repair (do you see a pattern here??) was the floor lamp whose three-way switch only had one-way left. Should have been an easy fix right?
It would be comforting to have a partner who was good with such things, who could look at a problem and see a solution she was missing…
Therapeutic Misadventures 