There is a light rain falling this morning, from a silvery sky.  It taps on the leaves, which are just sparsely scattered on the territory.   The  blooms of the goldenrod seems to light up the edge of the woods, on such days.  Still, there is some patches of late blooming floss flower -and the grass is still green.  The old barns look even older . . .when it rains.  Sundays are especially quiet in our farming community.  The farmers do not pick corn, unless there is threatening weather predicted-and no one can repair a barn nor mow the lawn,  even if they were a might to -in rain.  A rainy Sunday suits me just fine.   

I am rarely home on weekends and so there are all sorts of “tasks at hand” to tend.  Yesterday, I made a small fire in the garden and burned a bit of debris from the hurricane, a month ago.  Half of the garden is still piled high, but I like tending small fires and therefore, may be burning in December!   

Years ago, when the boys were here,  burning the garden was like a celebration.  A small fire is prone to make you think peaceful thoughts or to  make you think of nothing at all.  To be friendly, the fire should be small and burn slowly.  Different woods produce different   smells.  When there is a tinge of pine, I am most delighted.  Now, the boxer loves a fire too and races around when he sees me gathering pine cones to start one.  Once there are flames, he falls asleep.  The cat watches intently, as I do.  I still enjoy a fire, but it was better when the boys were here. 

I couldn’t help but cook today, just as I couldn’t help but write.  The conditions were perfect for both.  I am making dishes, with Mama in mind.   So far, she has chili and biscuits.  Spaghetti sauce is simmering and I am thinking to make asparagus in a creamy, buttery soup with garlic.  I do hope to makes something sweet, for I have such a “sweet tooth” . . but Mama is so much more sensible than I am, when it comes down to sweets.  Christian is too, so it always falls on me not to waste a cake or a cookie.  As the food simmers and fills the house with enticing aromas, I hum a merry tune as I go about other business.   . .and  there always is “business that needs tending” when you live on a rabbitpatch.  

On Monday, I was up before the crack of dawn.  I had lessons for remote learning students and like everything else, the process has changed.  I declare  that I learn technology as slowly as “molasses pour in January” .  I have lessons in my head that have to “roost” there til I can get them posted.  Still, I can wash clothes or cook beans while I mull through things, so I ought not to complain.  . . and the presence of the boxer is so very pleasant. 

 In the late afternoon, I visited with Mama and presented her with my efforts in the kitchen on Sunday.  She was especially happy about the biscuits.  Mama is doing as well as anybody could, with a life turned upside down.  Daddy died six months ago and all of us are still apt to burst in to tears at any given moment.  We sat on the porch, as it was a nice day. 

 It seems to me, that taking time to mourn, is quite necessary, but the odds are just against having that opportunity, in our very modern ways.  We are expected to return  to our routine, in a matter of days, even if your Daddy dies.  I thought about this when Grandmama died.  Kyle was in high school, and was told to write a paper about why he missed three days of school, without a note from a doctor.  To me, it seemed like a punishment.  Grandmama lived  with us and died with us.  . . You  must know, that I helped Kyle write that paper.   

I know first hand, that no matter how great the loss, no matter how vast the void imposed . . that we must find our way back to living with it.  Still,  I think we need more that a few days -or the day after the funeral,   to even begin the processing of healing a single iota.  The world is just not set up , to do so.  Daddy died during the  covid “lock down” . School was closed, but ,  there was so much business to tend to,  that I remember saying over and over . . .” I will cry later”.   

The days were lovely this week and perfect for dancing outside.  We are working on an almost military style dance and it takes a good deal  of muscle and memory.  We take breaks often.  This week we sat and watched clouds, on our breaks.  The class of young children became silent, I noticed and when I looked around, every one of them was staring with great concentration.  I wondered  that day, if anything greater could have happened in music class.   

Before, I knew it, it was Friday and I was packing to go to Raleigh to see my son, Brant and his family.  I was up early enough, that I had completed my work for school, so I left in the early afternoon.  I drove through a light rain, a heavy rain and an outright storm, as it turned out.  Traffic was light, thankfully and I was soon at the home on Hamlet Green, where some folks beloved to me, live.  It had been just over a month since I had seen Ryan last . . . .and that was way too long, for this  Honeybee.