The morning started off beautifully. The sunrise at the ” early service” was as usual, stunning. I admired Gods’ Handiwork and then went in to fix Sunday Dinner. I had written a post earlier, and so I “published” it as the ribs were simmering. When I checked later, on the post, it had gone to some unfamiliar place with a different look altogether. This really alarmed me, as my technical skills are lacking. I worked on the problem without a bit of luck, til I worried that I wouldn’t have time to make the lemon pudding cake for dessert. I abandoned my mission, in light of that, and headed to the bowl where I had mixed the glorious concoction for the cake. It was full of ants. I had used the last of what was needed and so I scrambled to gather the ingredients for a pumpkin cake instead. Meanwhile, Christopher Robin got sick and deposited last nights’ bowl of cream on the den floor. I would not be making biscuits today.
Once the cake was in the oven, alongside the ribs, I went back to the morning table to figure out what happened with the entry. Truthfully, I never did and I still had okra to cook. This was not the day to live dangerously, so I put all of my attention to the pan of okra. Mama and daddy arrived around noon and somehow there was food on the table. Though we all enjoyed the meal, mama said she wished I had cooked biscuits.
I ended up rewriting the original post, in the afternoon. I had already started this one and so for the first time in my brief blogging history, I was writing two posts at once. I do not recommend this. It was far harder than playing the cello. If it had been a poem, I would not have blinked twice, but it was an entry I had lost-an account of my life and it seemed so precious. . .not because the world needed it, but because I did. I have journals kept for over thirty years and they are more important to me than any important documents about such things as house insurance. Most of them are letters to my children. It seems the rabbitpatch diary is precious to me, too, I realise now.
Since the threat of a hurricane is past, I put out a few of the autumn decorations on the porch. I hung a wreath on the door and tied a new bow on the lamp post. I took down the summer flowers to be replaced with marigolds and chrysanthemums, first chance I get. Paired with pumpkins, the autumn flowers will be a lovely sight.
Thankfully, the afternoon passed without the audacity of the morning. Cash and Christopher Robin slept while I cleaned the den and tried to remember the morning entry. I cooked a big batch of the vegetable burgers and got them all packaged. I also made another pot of steel cut oats with pumpkin and ginger, as I had pumpkin left from the “Sunday dinner” cake. I never did watch the weather, but plan too tonight. Everyone is telling me that just rain and some wind is forecasted for the next few days .
The light hardly changed at all today. The sky was a silvery gray from sunrise til the sunset. There was a constant cool breeze. Rain did not fall until early evening, though the heavens had looked threatening all day. Under such conditions, the “autumn joy” nearly glows. It is a deep mauve now, but will steadily deepen til at last it is a warm burgundy. The row of sunflowers in the garden would make you think that sunshine can bloom, if you saw them.
All day, a light wind blew. Lamps shone brightly in the windows of homes. I like to think of people safely tucked in.
Today looked much like yesterday. I realise, in these circumstances, how much I depend on sun and shadows to know the time of day. Without dawn, dusk and slanting rays, time seems unchanging. The day passes anyway, but without the fanfare, of sunny days.
School has been in session for three weeks now. I have slipped into routine at the rabbit patch. I have found that adhering to a schedule, during the school year is a saving grace for me. Laundry does not disappear if neglected but instead accumulates at an alarming rate. I do a load of laundry everyday to avoid that . We are all hungry everyday, too. I start supper as the laundry is washing. I am a early riser, but it takes me longer than most to “get my bearings straight”. Therefore all decisions about wardrobe and lunch are made the night before, though I awaken two hours before, I have to be at work. If none of this sounds glamorous and exciting, you are right about that. . yet I am satisfied and even content .
One thing I am not short on is inspiration. The world is quite generous and supplies me an abundance of tender moments and beauty . . . sometimes growing on a ditch bank. . . I pass an old abandoned homestead on my drive home. The old house , that once stood on the edge of field, is gone now altogether. A decade ago, the remnants could be seen. Of course, I am sentimental about such things. Who called this place home?, I wonder. What woman planted the flowers that still remain-and on and on I go, til at last I am sure I would have loved all that lived there and I miss them. Now the little remaining patch of earth is overgrown and full of bricks- the last relics that testify, a house was once there. Today the yellow “swamp flowers’ were blooming, there, like a memorial, I thought.
I remembered when I moved to the rabbit patch. Kyle and Christian were young boys. Kyle and I were riding by the same old house one day -and the swamp flowers were blooming. Of course, I happened to have a shovel in the car and so I pulled in the old drive way. I got the shovel and asked Kyle to dig up a few for the rabbit patch. He was horror struck at the prospect of digging in a ditch for flowers! He worked as quickly as he could, and to his relief, not a car passed the whole time.
I still laugh when I remember that day. We renamed the flowers. We call them the “old house flowers” and they are blooming now . .at the rabbit patch.
Dear Diary, I am still glad for Sunday Dinner. I am glad for silver skies and cool breezes. I am also glad for the “old house flowers” and the young boy that brought them to the rabbit patch.