For A Good Time…

No, not that kind of good time. I’ve been waiting for a good time to resume blogging. Last year was an emotional roller coaster and, to deal with it all, I pulled back. All of those challenges have since resolved. So, what’s taking me so long to get back my blogging chops?

Maybe I needed processing time. Maybe I was tender and needed space. But we were returning to “normal.” It wasn’t a bad winter. We tend to hole up in front of the fire during the winter—read, and maybe write. I made excuses along the way. My computer died. It’s an ordeal to get a new computer, and to find technical help in recovering the things that were lost. Then the camera died. Fully, initially, and now it’s sort of limping along. That camera must be 20 years old, so I shouldn’t be surprised. Somehow, neither of us is up to the research needed to get a new one. After all, things don’t last like they used to, one should be up for these occasional challenges. The world has changed since Rick bought the old camera; most people just use their phones. We don’t have that kind of phone. We are landline folk. No pics, no texts.

Post Covid has also brought interesting reflections. We’ve become private. Not hermits, exactly, but guarded about contact with the world. I’ve come to resent a little the imposition of normal things—like grocery shopping and errands. Let’s face it, the outside world has been more than a little crazy over the past few years. We live in times when some shrug at an armed attack in the halls of our government—or at a Keystone Cops attempt to kidnap our Governor. What’s up with that?

We have some big projects planned this spring, two sheds to build and a doubling of the raised beds in the garden. We’ve been thinking of it as making up for last year’s torpor.

So, I’ve been waiting for a good time to start up the blog. The usual rites of Spring offered promise, tree-planting, early season prepping for the garden. I even found myself “blogging in my head” a bit, as we worked to put in the season’s crop of trees. We bought 103 trees this year, all of which are getting “the full spa treatment,” that is, planted with all the extra measures we give to orchard trees. We’ve never planted so many trees in one year that required all the extras. We were even using a new auger on the tractor. So far we have 59 trees planted—with many interruptions for weird weather. We’re worn a little thin with it all, but excited at the same time.

Friday night, one of the cats brought in a mouse. This happens from time to time, especially in the Spring. We jump to it, to either capture (and release it) or to dispatch it. There’s an accustomed frenzy in it, usually not a big deal. Rick was in high form, after some initial chase, he herded it to the basement steps. In hot pursuit and stocking feet, he flew down the steps, feet slipping out from him halfway down, and completing the flight on his back and side. Just the sound of it confirmed that we were talking about injuries. Still, he declined the expected ER visit, and curled up in bed to nurse his pride.

The weekend was difficult. By Monday it was clear that, at least, x-rays were in order. A trip to Urgent Care confirmed my concerns, in spades. Four broken ribs. The Doc was amazed that it took us days to come in. When he heard that the fall was about a mouse on the stairs, he offered advice, “You should get a cat.”

We’re rethinking our summer schedule. Rick is in rough shape and has weeks before he can consider projects. I still have trees yet to get in the ground. And, if I was looking for a good time to resume blogging, the truth is, there isn’t a good time. There’s just what is.