Here I sit at the table in the kitchen wearing my turquoise blue wool socks, my plaid pink cozy pj bottoms, a pink oversized top, covered by a traditional red dressing gown.
The snow is steadily and softly coming down. The roads seem ok here by the shore, but I think the schools are closed. The kettle is boiling water for a second cup of tea.
The trouble is the time is 12:45 pm. What are my ancestors thinking? My grand father came from the "five to seven victory, five after seven defeat" school of thought concerning morning rising. Actually, it wasn't just the rising, it was t he "getting dressed and up and at 'em element" that was more challenging.
To be honest, I would be very comfortable if I could set aside the sense of transgression. Let's hear it for the "my house, my rules attitude". There are no cows to milk or in my grandfather's case no souls to save. There are no doubt, many souls to save, but I'm not going there.
Tap. Tap. Tap on the side door. "@#*&" I have company. Helloooooooooo! Whew!
My friend, from up the hill, dropped in for a tea on the way from getting the mail at the road. She doesn't count as a visitor, as we have been friends since our early teens. I am sure there are still secrets to discover, but a case of possible sloth is of little shock and less interest to her.
The clock keeps ticking. The time is now 1:59. The bell, in my centre of well being, is about to ring.
I am about to get sensibly dressed, bring wood in for the fire, put away the clean clothes, make a try at sweeping clear the kitchen floor.
Then it will be time to do some real living. I will once again take some time to watch the new video of my beautiful baby grandson, enjoying sitting in his Bumbo. He is looking every bit as wonderful with his new blue woollen hat with tiny ears, as the little fellow in "Where the Wild Things Are". Not a bad reward, eh?
................................................................... and she's off.
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