Sunday Driver



Today was planned. It did not stick to the plan. On Friday, I left Boy on the moors, in a t-shirt and a hailstorm. It’s okay, he was expecting it, and it was a superior t-shirt. We live in a damp cold place, we consider fast wicking windproof thermal waterproofs everyday wear. Sunday pick up time was prearranged, then changed. Twice. I thought I would have finished everything from pesky housework to painstaking artwork, but I didn’t even quaff a coffee till 2pm. It almost got dangerous.


Driving out the second time, I took Dog, as her enthusiasm for life is contagious. There was plenty of life there, including one weary Boy and an ice cream van.
‘Sorry about that,’ he says.
‘If everything goes according to plan,’ I realise, verbally and deep inside, ‘you always know what is going to happen. That would get boring, wouldn’t it?’


Boy points out a wild foal snoozing by a granite boulder. Dog jumps in the river, disturbing a duck.


We go home, and I say to myself, maybe the work will get done, maybe it won’t. 



Comments

Teresa Cypher said…
Lovely post! We have all of our lives to do housework. It can wait. This post made me think of a poem by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton called, "Song for a Fifth Child" The last stanza is so true:

"The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

Have a good evening, Lily!
15 April 2012 at 19:48
Fran@Broken Cookies Don't Count said…
Sounds like a great day regardless of plans or no plans!
15 April 2012 at 20:38
Lisa Southard said…
It was a lovely day; cleaning and scrubbing can definitely wait. Boy's a bit for rocking, so we watched a film instead :-)
16 April 2012 at 21:16
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Contact Pants Conundrum

Image
There is weather today, I do note it: take a few moments to reckon the size of a cloud (big) and the frequency of rain (sporadic.) Centre of my interest though is a stack of magazines. Not the fashion kind. This is martial arts research. I'm not even sure what it is I'm looking for, but intuition calls loud. A range of old adverts skew some amusement. Contact pants, for example. Pants are not trousers where I come from. They are underwear. Professional contact pants: improved smirk value. But why would a person be likely to purchase a grappling hook and a lock pick set? For specialists and hobbyists only, the blurb assures. Guidance on the pheromone spray that attracts women against their better judgement? I doubt it works any more proficiently than the mysterious potion that defines your muscles while you sleep. But, then: I wonder is some sprayed on this paper? What was my intuition thinking, making this ghastly shout… Tea break time. There's a lot of words
Read more

A Candle Lit

Image
We live by the light of those we love, whether they are here or gone. That light is inextinguishable. To have the light and not the company is an adjustment process we call grief. Loss is a shadow, equal to the light. We adjust not to lose the shadow but to see both. Hard to bear - yet without darkness, light cannot show its full wonder. Let us look after each other, then, and value our days, our company, and live to leave vast shadows, and understand that pain is a strange gift, a tender, haunting, purposed gift. And if you are grieving: let your tears flow, let your anger shout, let yourself plead and deny and feel terrible: it is not an easy process.  Know that other people know grief.  Know that other people are hurt to see you grieve.  Know that love is a fundamental response. There is no time limit to this adjustment process. No right or wrong way to feel. One day you will stand back and see that the shadow is proof to the strength of the light, a
Read more

Spring Is Ticking

Image
It has been a while since I wrote a blog post - I have been writing books, and keeping a diary, the days and the work aren’t lost, just ticking quietly in a corner. [There’s a little dust in that corner but the shelf is made of strong oak planks, and the light is enchanting. A plant grows in a pot, it spouts leaves. A half candle stands in a china holder.] At Paddock Garden (properly titled Paddock Garden Orchards, I am a lazy typer) a tree corral has been constructed. It contains persimmons which may not have survived the recent cold blasts and heavy rain, along with some happy pepper trees, bladdernuts, and plum yews. We plan to underplant and interplant extensively in this concentrated area. Around the grounds also we have begun some windbreak hedges, mostly of elaeagnus and hazel. We have a line of sapling native oaks edging the spinney. The first of our camping bay areas is growing emerald grass that was seeded last autumn; the second has recently been seeded; the last three need
Read more