Wednesday, May 21, 2014

The Stupid Things I Did Today

I don't even think I can blame Mercury in retrograde for today's suckiness. It was all me. I have days when I'm so efficient, so energetic, so ON that it makes me think that everyday will be like that. Unfortunately, it still hasn't sunk in that for every day of intensive on-ness, I usually have a couple of days of absorbing/processing/recovering, where I am the opposite of on -- which isn't OFF, exactly, but more like not-as-on-as-I-believe.

Today was one of those days. Backed into a parked car (they got some paint damage, my bumper crumpled like a piece of paper); tried to conduct a business phone call while my daughter was getting a haircut, which meant I wasn't concentrating on either activity; followed said daughter into a new Asian food market that's opening up in our tiny village while still on the phone, politely pointing at the phone and waving off the adorable family who were (I thought) trying to give me a tour, until I realized after several minutes of browsing they were trying to tell me that the store wasn't actually opening till June 1; had a pathetic workout at the gym; realized that if you don't water all those plants you bought for the garden they will in fact shrivel up; and called the insurance company to find out exactly how much (monetary) damage I've done as a result of the collision.

Sunday, May 18, 2014

I've become Ma Wilder

This morning, my breakfast consisted of two eggs that came from the chicken coop of the neighbor across the street from me, and a latté made with milk straight from the cows at the farm a few miles from here. Last week, we ate hamburgers made from the cows from that same farm, and another night paneer made from their milk. Starting next week, we'll go a few more miles down the road (ten, I think) for all our vegetables. I've been thinking that my kitchen is being transformed into Little House on the Prairie, and I'm Ma (except for the anti-Native American racism and the waist that Pa can still circle with his hands). This is homestead living, my friends.