21 September 2011

rambling alone

 Day after day, the weeks go by. Take out the trash on Wednesday, fill prescriptions on the 21st, get Anastasia's IR shot Fridays. Tear something down, load it on the truck, drive it to the landfill, unload it. Pay bills, buy dogfood. Step by step, life goes on. Almost seven months since he's lived at home. I'm existing.

Train myself to leave at seven, whether for an hour and a quarter trip to be there by nine, or by nine thirty, or a forty minute trip to be there by eight. Drive the backroads because there's no rush. Set the alarm for five four days a week, for six the other three.

Take pictures. Of how the house has changed, and the town; of trees in bloom, in leaf, in color. Soon they'll be blazing, then bare. Rearrange the furniture, again. Make small improvements. Empty cabinets. Create space.

Four months before I watched movies again. Four months three netflix lay here, unopened. Now I'm watching one or two a night, picking others off the DVD shelf when I run out. Moved the stationary bike into the living room, so I can pedal while I watch, on nights I'm not knitting. Can't knit and watch a foreign film, read subtitles. Can pedal though.

Drive backroads. Notice barns, and stone walls, and Mennonite children. Cattle, pigs, goats. The occasional dog, few cats. Say, "Morning, doves," to the mourning doves I flush at 40mph. What will today bring? When will you be home?

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