The first day of December has dawned, quietly and subtly.  The world simply got light . . and while it did a mockingbird sang.  I have not heard a mockingbird or any bird sing, in a while.  The chatter of blackbirds, while cheerful, does not “hold a candle” to the sweet melody of the mockingbird.  I stopped everything and listened.  With the air, being so mild today, it could have been a morning in April.  I do not know why, but tears filled my eyes.  I did not realise, until that moment, that I had missed the morning song of birds, so much.  I love the winter and welcome it with my whole heart.  I especially love December and Christmas time, but I did remember spring  while the mockingbird sang, and felt “homesick” for a spring morning.  

I couldn’t help but think of the poem, “I Heard a Bird Sing” by Oliver Herford.  I loved it the first time, I read it, and had the children  memorize it.  Today, I lived this verse.  My day was started with a little bit of wonder.

Housekeeping is on the agenda today.  You can not “run the roads” and do much of anything else.   I also plan to cook.  There are several long overdue tasks besides the usual chores.  The territory is an awful state and with rain in the forecast, today and tomorrow, it will remain so.   I am quite sure the neighbors have given up all hope of my recovery –  and with the community being full of such tidy folks . . . what a disappointment,  I must be just now.  Some day, I will redeem myself.

I put the windows up, though I am thinking that will  be a short-lived affair.  Still, I have always done so if the opportunity arises . . even in December.  On a leap of faith, I packed up my spring and summer clothes . . .just in case, I really am moving.  I am quite a minimalist, by nature and so, it didn’t take long.  

It was one of those timeless days. where the light does not change, as the hours pass.  It could have been anytime,when Christian came in-but it was only noon.  I  was washing linens and shared my lofty plans for the rest of the day, with him.

 I had mixed up a batch of shampoo for Cash and Christopher Robin and so I started on that project.  They were neither happy, but both tolerated  their bath, well.  I looked out the window by the “morning table” and noticed how still the countryside was.  It certainly seemed, that the weatherman was right about rain coming in.  It dawned on me, that this would be a good day to burn the garden -and so I did.  I am not good at starting fires, no matter what I have in my arsenal, but at last, I managed a small flame.  I burned til the rain came.  I at least, had a good start. I removed the autumn wreath from the back door, as I came in. 

The rain fell at a steady pace.  It was the perfect kind of day, to start a new book -and I had one.   . .“Elizabeth and Her German Garden” , so it was very tempting.  I knew if I started it though, that I would not accomplish another thing, for I get hopelessly drawn in to books and do not even want to stop to eat. (Mama is the same way.)  I laid the book aside, and placed a stack of bills, on top of it.  That would keep me on task, as it is time to pay bills . . and I dread it.  I am on a shoe string budget, first of all and sometimes, I think, I  have spent  a good deal of life , just trying to keep the lights on!

 I was putting away laundry and it was suddenly dark.  It was still raining, too.  I was too tired to face the bills, hence, I did not start my new book.  I went to bed early, after a supper of left overs, for  I am cleaning out the freezer . . .just in case.

I was up long before the sun, on Sunday.  The rain had tapered off to a mere drizzle.  I made coffee – and opened the bills.  After  calculating my predicament, I was very thankful, that most of my Christmas shopping was done.  Recently, all sorts of things outside of the budget had arisen.  There was a hefty fee for extending the contract on the cottage and then I took the car for an oil change and ended up having two new tires put on.  One of the tires was in such awful shape that I cringed when I saw it.  I must pay better attention, I decided.  

Now every month, for most all of my adult life, somehow, I have “kept the lights on”.  Sometimes, I have dreamed of winning the lottery, but chances are mighty slim, as I do not play.  Sometimes, I think, I have won a lottery, of sorts, for I am rich, when it comes to loved ones and wealthy when it comes to contentment. . . and I have “kept the lights on”, after all.  Still, I can not deny that having some money is appealing.  

I remember a Christmas eve, a few years back.  I had a bit more than the usual amount left over, after the bills were paid.  In haste, I went out to buy a few extra gifts for my children.  Please know, my children always got socks, bedroom shoes and a book-guitar strings for Christian and art supplies.  It was always the same. . .so this particular Christmas, I could splurge, if just a little.  I was so happy and decided to bring supper home, as well-another indulgence.  I called the boys, to tell them I was almost home and had supper, too.  The minute I hung up, the car died.  I mean it cut off on the highway altogether.  I barely got it off the road.  The engine would not even try to start!  The lights were out and I was immediately in a state of panic.   I called Kyle, who got a posse of local men and my daddy, to come get me.  Daddy being a mechanic went about diagnosing the problem, but it was pitch dark and so he could really only guess.  Everything he imagined, seemed to cost about five hundred dollars, which I did not have.  I felt punished for having bought things like chocolate . . .and supper!  I was ashamed of abandoning my good senses and on and on I went.  Finally, when I was weary from lamenting, I pulled myself together.  I was on Christmas break, and wouldn’t need the car for another ten days.  I could come up with some plan, surely in that time. . .and it was Christmas eve, after all.

The next morning, Daddy called.  He had awaken at first light, to look at the car.  The whole problem was a loose wire!  A simple and very free solution to my catastrophe.  He would be bringing my twenty year old car, “home” to me , safe and sound.  Well, I laughed and cried, when we hung up -at the same time!  Such relief flooded over me.  When I collected my thoughts, I told God, that I should have known not to fret, for He always has provided for me faithfully.  I told Him, I regretted my foolishness , in thinking otherwise.  I told Him, while I knew I can always depend on Him for everything, including money, I just wished He would  let me write it down in my bank account!  

This is a very true story, and it is not that old, either.  The old car was replaced just a few years ago, with another used car, gifted to me by Tres.  Christian still gets guitar strings and art supplies for Christmas-and the boys still ask for socks, too.  

Today, as I start paying the bills, I remember that time and countless others, that turned out the same.  I remain responsible but I do not fear being generous.  I do not harbor shame, if I am doing my best and I expect things to work out., even in light of my mistakes.   What liberty, I know now, when unhindered by my own limitations of my Father.

My dear friend Rae, lost her job and and a husband within a six month period.  It was an awful season for her.  I asked her once, how she was financially and she replied “fine, I never worry about money, for I trust God, to care for me.”  She was not left with much of an inheritance, and so I was stunned at her bravery and faith.  Moments later, I was laughing.  Now Rae was stunned and asked me” what was funny?”  I told her that she trusted God like He had all the money in the world-and I acted like He had ten dollars to spare!  She laughed too.

Now, when I need new tires, I can say “its’ just money” for it is.   . .and it is just God, that makes the difference. . . .now at the first of December . . .and always.

 

 

 

 

The last few days have been cold.  Nights are below freezing and in the day, we southeners, now don our “winter coats”.  I walk to the car, in the morning on frozen ground.  I do not mind the cold weather unless there is wind.  A cold wind is about unbearable.  I have always heard that “New Englanders were a sturdy lot-and I suppose they are, for I can not imagine day after day of these conditions.  Of course they have snow too- a lot of snow.  When it does snow here, the least bit, southeners  hunker down and no one is going anywhere!  Instead, we are home cooking hearty dishes like stews or beans . . .in warm, comfortable “house clothes”.  In the absence of snow, it has been business as usual.  

With December, just a few days away, many of us are thinking about Christmas.  I  confess now, that I think about Christmas all year.  Farm Life puts on quite a production at Christmas.  Houses, barns and sheds are covered in lights.  Reindeer graze on the lawns and wreaths are hung on doors and fences.  Bows adorn lamp posts and the affect is charming.  

I moved to the Farm Life Community, more than a decade ago, in May.  I met my first friend, here just a few days later.  “Miss Sylvia” came and presented me a cook book, of recipes compiled by the local women.  It was a “welcome” gift, and it is my favorite cook book.   The recipes do not  start with a can of soup or instant pudding.  These women cook from” scratch” and their dishes have stood the test of time.  

Miss Sylvia had deep roots in Farm Life and it seemed she was “kin” to most everybody, or else went to school with them.  She was glad to see that the old farm house would be occupied.  Every room needed painting and the yard was full of debris.  I was an awful mess, when she showed up.  I was telling her all that I was doing, and without a moments hesitation, she asked me if I decorated for Christmas?  I was a bit stunned at her question, but she went on and told me that the community placed great stock in good decorating.  I assured her that I did, and she seemed very relieved.  

As it turned out, Miss Sylvia used to work at a florist shop.  She made bows, and had earned herself quite a reputation.  She offered to make bows for me and so I took her up on it, each year, in early December.  One year, particularly stands out in my memory and I never fail to remember it, this time of the year.  It was the year that I used the red bows with small white polka dots.

I had the idea that the ribbon would be just perfect for a country home and I searched high and low for months, for it.  At long last I found just the right look and presented it to Miss Sylvia, as soon as I got home.  Miss Sylvia examined it thoroughly, and said at last, that “it was ugly!”  She went on to say, it wouldn’t hold up, and said again “and it is ugly, too”.  Being she was an elder, I sheepishly asked her to make them anyway.  A day or so later, she called and said the” bows were ready – and just as she predicted, they were ugly”.  Well, I hung them and I loved them!  I still laugh remembering that.  I always miss my dear,  Miss Sylvia, but most especially at Christmas.

Now, this year, all of my decorations are packed up and I may not even decorate at all!  It all depends on  what unfolds in the very next few weeks in what has become certainly,  a saga. . .selling the rabbit patch.  Either way,  if there is a sprig of pine on the mantel – or a wreath hung, it will be a last minute attempt to mark the grand occasion of my beloved Christmas.  Maybe this year, I will carry on the tradition of “Old Christmas”.  . .another thing I remember about Miss Sylvia, for she always marked the visit of the wise men, to the Christ child, with a party. 

Work is especially busy, just now.  The violinists-over two hundred of them – are practicing  fervently and the children are also learning songs in various languages for the annual Holiday Concert.  I never tire of Christmas music.  I especially like the old music.  The old songs never fail to spark my own childhood memories. . .one being the year, that Grandmama got a tree in a box.

I do not know what I was expecting . . .but it was not what I saw.  I remember clearly the shock of seeing my first “aluminum tree”.  It was silver with blue ornaments. . . a far cry from the usual, little cedars, cut from a ditch bank.  Grandmama was so very proud of it and said, the folks in Florida, were using them regularly now.  To me, Florida must have been another country altogether and they musn’t have had. a single patch of woods anywhere.  Grandmama was “happy as a lark” with her modern tree.  I was speechless.  In my wildest childhood dreams, I could not have imagined an “aluminum tree”.  Thankfully, “Dean Martin” was singing on the record player, as usual, so at least something, made sense.

Every thing seems to evoke memories, this time of the year.  Of course, I am prone to being sentimental, on a regular basis, but I realise especially at Christmas, that I have quite a  storehouse of beautiful memories in my collection.  . .and I do not want to forget a one of them.  In some way, it seems that remembering, is like a “housekeeping of the heart”.  I sort things out, and tidy up any tattered fragments. It is odd that I do not remember but a few gifts that I received.  Instead,  I remember clearly, things like the tinsel that Mama saved each year.  Putting it on the tree, was slow and tedious work . . .taking it off was worse.  Mama was very particular about her tinsel, and how it was placed on the tree.  The task was not going quickly.  . .and that is all there was to it.  After the initial complaining and protests, for no one wanted to hang single strands of tinsel, a hush would fall on us.  It was as if we were in a trance brought on by the dangling silver. When the heat came  on, or the door was opened-the tinsel  would sway and flutter as if it had a life of its’own.  I was so happy when Mama traded the tinsel for a garland-yet now, over fifty years later, I remember the tinsel.

As we bid November farewell, with its’ scarlet and golden woodlands  and with the blackbirds flying,  we know it did not leave us empty-handed.  November gives us a quiet, steady dose of  gentle beauty that stirs thoughts of home and hearth  – and makes us remember the most beautiful things. 

  

 

 

 

The day after Thanksgiving  dawned brightly . . and cold.  Thankfully, there was no rush to our day.  Christian and I were going to Elizabeth City, but not at the “crack of the freezing dawn”.  Of course, the animals do not believe in sleeping, til the sun comes up.  If I so much as blink, they are in a crisis and need to go out at that very moment. Christian is an early riser too, so, between the two of us, everyone went out and came back in to their “breakfast”, while we had coffee.

Those moments are rare, for Christian and I  – and I do not take them lightly.  Christian works six days a week and has to be at work mighty early.  Many days, he is there by four am.   Not long after supper, Christian is in bed.  We have brief encounters, at best.  I do not know, the last time, that he and I shared a day off, so we were determined, to make this day count.

By mid morning, we were on the way to Will and Jennys’, where Brant and Tres , were waiting, also.  These are my favorite days.

The drive was beautiful and we noticed the leaves as we went along.  We pointed out to one another, the especially pretty scenes.  I decided I would plant a maple, after seeing several vibrant yellow ones.  We saw the scarlet dogwoods, and I thought to plant one of those too.

Some folks were already highly decorated for Christmas, we noticed.

When we arrived in Elizabeth City, it was like a reunion and a holiday rolled all in one.   Lyla, said it best when she proclaimed happily “Now, we are all together!”

Of course, with it being near noon, I set about fixing lunch.We had all sorts of food (left overs) on the kitchen island, and folks ate in shifts, as they got hungry.  Little Brynn was liable to turn up anywhere, as she was passed around like a precious china doll. Lyla was everywhere.  She and I were cozy for a while, reading a new book and then watching “Cinderella”, then she was off to a more adventurous (and rowdy) company, with her Uncle Brant.  Tres had secluded himself in the fancy dining room,to complete an assignment.  When the house became quiet, I went looking for Lyla.  She didn’t seem to be anywhere, but she was. . .  Lyla was in the dining room with her “uncle Tres” as quiet as a mouse and writing on a paper, with quite a stern countenance.  She said she “had work to do too”.  So, she sat quietly, with her uncle, for a while.

It wasn’t long after, we unpacked  our violins.  Christian had forgotten his guitar, so today, he played the violin, too.  Lyla was especially happy to have her own violin, this year.  She listened very carefully to our instructions, on what string to play on, for each carol. There were no guarantees, however, that she would stay there.  These are my favorite days.

 Sydney, Brants’ fiance, made a blackberry wine cake and of course Lyla joined in on that.  The recipe came from  Sydneys’ grandmother  and is one of Sydneys’ favorites.  We have been looking forward to it, for a while and were not disappointed, when at last, the cake was cut.    We all went to bed early. We blamed it on the left over turkey, that we had for supper.

Apparently, every one in the family is an early riser.  I woke up extra early on Saturday, but not before Brynn.  Without  prompting, from Cash, nor Christopher Robin, I laid very still, collecting my thoughts and listened to all sorts of commotion upstairs.  Will came down the stairs first, to take the dog out.  A few minutes later, I heard the washing machine start.  I knew then, the day was starting and it was best to get up and join in.  Moonlight still washed over the landscape, when I was making coffee.  The next sound I heard, was a large flock of geese, flying over.  I rushed out just in time to see them flying across the very bright full moon.

I made sweet potato pancakes for breakfast.  We had so many sweet potatoes left from Thanksgiving, and it seemed a shame not to use them.  I made sausage too and eggs.  Not long after we ate, it started raining.  It rained hard enough, that the whole world looked silver-plated . 

Brant brought the Christmas decorations down from the attic and Lyla was sure that this was the best day yet.  While they worked on getting the tree up, I emptied the contents of the refrigerator.  I found green beans,  carrots, corn and butter beans .  I found potatoes in the pantry and a can of tomatoes.  A pot of soup was in the making.  Sydney and I decided to go to the grocery,  which is just five minutes from the house.  We bought all kinds of cheese, for grilled cheese sandwiches and since we were there . . .and since the Christmas wreaths were being hung, I thought to buy the ingredients for “Scottish shortbread cookies”.   One of the neighbors is from Scotland, and she sent shortbreads for Christmas one year.  I decided these cookies were some of the best I had ever had.  Jenny agreed and so the first chance that I got, I took, to get her recipe.  Today, was the perfect day to make them, I thought.  There happened to be good metal cookie cutters in shapes, like snowflakes and angels, stars and gingerbread men, in the store, so I bought those too.

The tree was standing joyfully, in front of a window when Lyla found the Santa cookie jar.  She brought in the kitchen, and so went to work to fill it.   This day, we listened to Christmas music by Bing Crosby, as we baked.  If a catchy tune, played, then a dance started, right there in the kitchen!  By the time Lyla had used every cookie cutter from the very large supply twice, she was tired and I thought she was going to nod off in the soft dough!   Thankfully, Sydney stepped in and helped the long process. Somehow Lyla mustered the strength, to play her violin with Brant and I, while the cookies cooled.  Then she listened to a book, which Brant thought was the longest version ever written, of “Little Red Riding Hood”.  Tres laid beside little Brynn, during the reading . . .and he agreed with Brant.  It truly was, one of my favorite days.

Before I knew it, it was today . . .Sunday . . .the last day of our gathering.   Today, we had an agenda.   We had a late breakfast and food was packaged to be sent home with everyone.  Bags were packed and good byes were said.  I always take the partings, hard.  I consoled myself, that Christmas was not so far off.  . . and Christmas is full of favorite days.

 

       

,

Here it is, just days before one of my favorite holidays . . .Thanksgiving.  I love the prelude to holidays.  It feels like a perpetual sense of opening a gift.  I love every detail. . . from planning the menu, to scrubbing the floor.  Thanksgiving is one of my favorite days.  A time to gather with family  and renew the ties that bind you . .  and a time to remember all that is right, in your life.  

Over time, traditions are born.  They just seem to happen without forethought.  For many years, my sons got up a football game in the yard, every year after the meal.  It was hardly a serious affair, as Christian, the youngest, was carried across the yard to score a touchdown, when he was a toddler. (  I intentionally did not plant roses, in one part of the yard,  in order, to leave  a large, open space, for football.) At some point,  their little cousin, Brandon was carried – and each little cousin that followed.  Now, Brandon is in his first year of college.  . . Now the boys, are walking with Lyla, after the meal and playing hide and seek” with her  -and Jenny  lost all interest in football, many years ago.

Some years, such as this one, we have an “early Thanksgiving” celebration.  In such circumstances, I cook the meal, on Thursday anyway, for whoever can come. Mama and I planned a meal, around  the turkey, but with different side dishes.  Daddy does not even like turkey, and we took that in to account, but we are still having turkey.

I have the afternoon off, as school was dismissed early.  I   had to stop by the grocery.  What a bustling place that was, but folks were all so friendly and smiling.  Even the employees, which I felt such a sense of compassion for, were in high spirits.  I so wish, things were like they used to be.  Stores and businesses closed in lieu of the holidays, years ago and all had the chance to  observe the day as they saw fit.  Of course, this meant if you forgot to buy corn, you just didn’t have it and if you ran out of milk, the potatoes would suffer, but that seems a small and insignificant price to pay, after all.  I  would much rather know, that the young cashier was listening to her grandmother tell a story, that day or that the young men stocking the shelves, were with loved ones, eating pie, instead.  Sadly, those in professions that handle emergencies will always be needed, even on holidays, but putting out a fire, or caring for the sick, is a far cry from selling merchandise of any sort. 

I drove home under a canopy of leaves the color of honey and apricots and some were as red as rubies.  The day was bright and clear skies loomed overhead.  Autumn was robbed of its’ usual glory this year.  The wind blew fierce and rain pelted the trees without mercy, on a good many days.  Still, the leaves that did not come unfastened, paint the landscape now.  Their attempt is sufficient, for the countryside is lovely.

The farmhouse still has boxes in every corner.  On Sunday, I found the largest stainless steel pot I own, in one of them.  I cooked the collards in that.  Miraculously, I found the pot with the very old roasting pan, in the first box I looked in.I will need that for the turkey. Oddly, these boxes were not sealed, as I had run out of tape, so no damage was done. 

 I had hoped a good old movie would be  on this afternoon.  Something like “The White Cliffs of Dover”  or “Miss Miniver” , but there was no such luck.  I was not in the mood for a mystery.  I have enough of that in my real life.   I had chores to do, and needed  a familiar story that I could watch in spurts.  I opted for “Little Women” which I had recorded, though I could not bear watching Beth die again, today. I would hang the curtains during that part. 

Before I knew it, evening was settling across the territory and it was time to turn a lamp on.  

I woke early on Thanksgiving.  With todays’  light fare, there was not the usual need, to rise before dawn, but out of habit, I did anyway. Only the turkey required any real time.  I didn’t dare turn the news on, for fear of hearing of multiple tragedies and crime.  Some times, I want my world small.

I washed the platter, with the cheerful birds on it.  I had packed that with the roaster.  My sister Delores, gave me the platter for a birthday, years back.  I never fail to think of her, when I use it.  Delores is very thoughtful with her gifting and will look high and low, for just the right thing.  In all my decluttering, I did not part with a single gift, she had ever given me.  The platter would be the prettiest dish on the table today, for I have packed up all of my fancy dishes and those boxes are sealed, until further notice.

By the time, light came to the rabbit patch, I was making the orange and coconut dish, that Miss Claudia loves.  I have not made that for Mama and Daddy before, but I suspect, they will carry some home, with them.  I decided to make some of “Jo Dees'” barbecue chicken for Daddy,too.  He will be relieved of not having to eat turkey, again.  I also made a small pot of chili, for them .  These almost cold evenings are the perfect time for a warm bowl of “something”, for supper.

I put on the corn and green beans before nine.  Long slanted rays streaked the rabbit patch about that time.  I thought about all of the fuss going on in kitchens everywhere.  There is something very pure about loved ones gathering for the sake of sharing a meal and giving thanks.  Thanksgiving does not have any thing else on the agenda and that makes it an extra special time for me.  

I did not expect to still be at the rabbit patch, this Thanksgiving, hence the packed up dishes.  I was certain, all the business of selling and buying would have been completed, by now.  As it turns out, I was wrong again.  I had pictured myself in the little cottage, with the little dining room, and had wondered where everyone would sit.  

For the longest time, I have done such daydreaming.  Now, after going through this long drawn out process, and having been totally off, by my calculating, I have a different stance.  I am dedicating my efforts to becoming an observer.  I no longer feel inclined to have an opinion about how things work.  . .and that includes human actions too.  As an observer, you simply gain information, without casting a judgement.  I needn’t think “Johnny is selfish, but instead that  it is difficult for Johnny to give”.  I shutter to think, how many times, I have cast judgement, and would have declared I did not, at the time.    I am making a gallant effort, and I need a lot more practice, but it is actually very liberating. 

Now, make no mistake, thinking I am floating along unscathed by this current predicament-nor that I am not now wondering where the Christmas tree will go and hoping there are outside receptacales  . . . but I am willing watch how things work out . . .and  if – and when . . . with a new perspective.  That is one of the many things, that I am grateful for today. 

  

The house smelled like Thanksgiving by mid morning and it looked like Thanksgiving, out of the kitchen window,  for the yard seemed as if it had been  “dusted  as heavily with cinnamon”, as the sweet potatoes  – with all the leaves scattered everywhere.  Cash, my boxer and my gray cat, Christopher Robin, slept  together, in a patch of sunshine, on their blanket.  In my small world,  at least on this day -there was “peace on earth”.   . .and I was grateful for that, too.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!   with love,  from the Rabbitpatch Diary !

 

 

I told Jenny, today, that one day, I am going to think about flowers and things like pretty curtains . . like I used to.  It is not this day.  It has not been that day in a while.  Thankfully, the autumn keeps providing little interludes of sorts, to prod me along.  When I see a maple ablaze with amber leaves or golden light filling up a field, I take it personally and know that I am loved.

  

My uncle Randy, died this week.  He was my dads’ oldest brother.  He was eighty five years old, which when you read that, it makes you think he lived to a  ripe old age and we should all be counting the blessing of that.   . .and we do, but we are all heartbroken anyway. After all, there is one less person in this world that loved us, especially. . . there is one less elder in the family, that lived the stories of our history and one less father, grandfather, uncle and brother, in our clan. 

He was a kind and gentle man, humble and soft spoken.  He had buried a wife and two sons, killed in separate tragic accidents as very young adults.  He grew up on the back roads of North Carolina, where life was hard.  He joined the army as a young man.  Somewhere he learned to play the guitar and played in a band.  Like all the men on the “Warren” side of the family, he was an excellent mechanic.  (That gene shows up in the family-even both of my sisters- and the grandchildren!  (But not me, at all!)  

Uncle Randy spent the last years of his life, in a nice townhouse, with his daughter, Sheila, for a next door neighbor.  Sheila cared for him, lovingly and faithfully, and deserves a crown.  What an example she has set of devotion and  I admire her with all of my heart.

We gathered today for the funeral.  I had a visit with one of my dearest cousins, Wendy. Wendy is a constant source of inspiration for me.  Her heart is as pure as the “driven snow”.   We shared a meal on Uncle Randys’ porch and remembered our own grandmother, and agreed that Uncle Randy had “her tender heart” and we missed our grandmother, all over again.  If you are under the impression that I hail from good folks, then you are right.  I have been given the golden opportunity to know goodness, nobility and integrity.  . .through my elders . . .and Uncle Randy was one of them.   

We had planned, weeks ago, to have a “Thanksgiving meal” on this Sunday, at Mama and Daddys’ house. I woke early to start making my dishes.  I am sure that Mama got up early too, as she is cooking the turkey.  Connie was making a chocolate cheesecake last night, which I am looking forward to.  She asked me if she should and without hesitation, I said “yes!”.   My brother in law, Roy has converted his famous chocolate cake to cupcakes for Lyla, as she just loves cupcakes.  I am bringing a large pot of collards and I am making the biscuits for the stuffing.  My grandmama gave me the recipe, when I was a young cook, and now no bagged crumbs or boxed ones, will do in our family.

The morning broke quietly as I was washing the green collards.  The light came in soft increments, til at last it was day.  There was just the right amount of chill in the air, to make me look forward to turning the oven on.  The scant frost on the fallen leaves, glistened in the sunshine. I walked outside and the peace of the morning settled on me like a holy shield around me and the cares of this season in my life, dimmed greatly.  Nothing disappeared, such as impending dates, loss and the hidden details of my future, but these things  now paled, in the glory of the morning.     

 I couldn’t help but think of Sheila, as today will be especially quiet for her.  I am glad that she has her children and grandchildren that gather around her,  dependably, for they will be of great comfort.

The early “Thanksgiving” dinner was a success.  We were all served by one, after Lylas’ blessing-save Delores who offered to hold Brynn.  After we ate, we drew names for Christmas.  This was a first for us and  we shouted out the names as soon as they were drawn, as if it were a lottery.  Next, we planned a day to gather at Mama and Daddys’ to put the tree up and hang the wreaths.  Mama always has an especially pretty home at Christmas, and I think her neighbors have come to depend on it. Her picket fences are adorned with garland and red bows.  There is a Christmas flag and lights.  It is a charming sight and I suspect people driving past, are likely to slow down.

Everyone left, the gathering, with hopes to get home, before dark.  Deer are a plenty on country roads, and pose quite a hazard for drivers.  They not only dart in your path, but are liable to dash into the side of your car, at great speed.  If one runs across the road, seasoned country dwellers, know to stop altogether, for you can bet your last dollar, more are coming, behind it.  They are beautiful creatures, and lovely to encounter . . if they are safely grazing in a field or drinking from a creek, at twilight.

I was in comfortable clothes and under a warm, soft blanket, by the time the first star was out. If at all possible, I try to keep Sunday nights quiet. I sort out what I can about the details of the upcoming week and hope for the best.  I look at the forecast and  I take an inventory of the groceries.  . .for these things have become rituals over the years  . .after all, tomorrow is Monday . . .and that changes everything.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At  last, a”hard frost” fell on the territory. It came late this year, as compared to most.  Before, this diary, there have been many I have kept over the past thirty five years.  For some reason, I always note the characteristics of each particular season.  I am sure growing up on a farm and being a gardener, has kept me keenly aware of things like “the first hard frost”.  I know that often, we have one by mid to late October.  A hard frost means a lot to a country dweller, for it ends the mowing -and the growing.  Greens are best after a frost, for it tenders them.  You are not so likely, to step in a mound of fire ants, either.  Now is the time to “take to the woods”, for ticks, mosquitoes, redbugs and poison vines do not hinder a stroll as they did before-even snakes are not the threat they once were.

I was in Elizabeth City, the night of the frost.  It was a three day weekend, after all.

Will and Jenny, took full advantage and went out to eat, one night.  Little Brynn is a happy, beautiful baby . . .and knows full well, who her parents are.  No one else will do, unless of course, she gets stranded.  Brynn fussed a little while, that night, but  I remained steadfast and mustered my courage, til it paid off .  Brynn was sleeping peacefully, when her beloved parents returned.  Lyla and I always get along beautifully, but just in case, I made her favorite pumpkin bread, for a special”late night snack”.

Saturday faired off to a delightful day.  I sat out on the deck, and listened to the voices of neighborhood children enjoying the day.  I looked up once, to see two little girls strolling along, hand in hand.  It was a beautiful sight. They were chatting away and were so merry.  I remembered holding my sisters’ hands as we were growing up.  Sometimes, it was for safety,  if we were on a sidewalk or in the church parking lot, but often we did so just for the sake of holding hands as we went along.  It was a habit then, as it is today amongst the youngest children, who are naturally loving .  Somehow, seeing the little friends hand in hand sparked  a hope in me, for though the time of innocence is more fleeting than ever, here was evidence, that all is not yet lost.

Lyla loves the kitchen.  She has taken to watching cooking shows, as well.  Her favorites are making decorated cupcakes.  She will watch one  episode after another and even asked me to get her a “piping bag”!  One episode featured a mother and daughter making zucchini  bites (which is a modern name for squash fritters).  Jenny and I thought these would pair well with the tomato basil soup I was making for supper.  Lyla was so excited when she saw me grating the squash, and wanted to  try herself.  I placed my hand on hers, and warned her often to slow down, but she cut herself anyway. It was an awful shock, and I know it hurt.  She wailed a good while and finally cried herself to sleep.  I should have known better .  I should have firmly denied her this request. I chided myself while she slept sorrowfully. . .The next morning we made cinnamon rolls and thankfully, there were no regrets, this time.

Miss Claudia, Wills’ mom and my friend, came over for a late brunch and so we served the cinnamon buns, sausage, bacon, eggs and fried potatoes. When the kitchen was cleaned up, and the laundry put away, I was just about to sit down for leisure conversation, when Christian called.  He was almost an hour away with a flat tire and no spare (he is my son and as bad as I am about such things).  Well, I was already packed and immediately dashed out.  It was just starting to rain. 

I could not bear the thought of my son being beside a highway , in a pouring rain. . .alone.  All sorts of thoughts rushed in my head, and being a mother, none were good.  I did not have clear directions where he was and his cell had gone dead.  Right when I was about to give up, I saw his truck.  Relief washed over me as thoroughly as the rain washed  over the landscape.

 I will be the first to say that I have never done well under such circumstances.  There are countless stories in our family about my outlandish behavior when  I thought a child of mine was in danger. .and . .  . they are all true.  What little bit of good sense I do have, abandons me altogether, in such moments.  It has not gotten any better, just because they all grew up, either. 

Uneventful days seem to be a thing of the past, as of lately. My dad has had a fair share of battles, for the past month.  Mama has too, for she faces the battles with him, shoulder to shoulder.  No one goes in to a battle, in this family, alone. 

My “Uncle Randy”, Daddys’ brother is doing poorly, too.  I have always especially loved my uncle.   Then there is Wills’ mom and my friend, Miss Claudia, who also is in the midst of a struggle.  I do not go about my business, unscathed by my loved ones’ strife, for I am laden with concern in every step.  

There is the on-going saga of selling the house, as well, which truly, I have had little time to dwell on. 

At work, the “Holiday Concert” is just a few weeks away.  Over three hundred children will perform.  The children are so excited and that is a “saving grace” for me.  The youngest violinists are working on “Jingle Bells with joyful  anticipation of the concert.  I have seen this, hundreds of times, but it is never “old hat” to me.

For the first time in many years, I wonder where the Christmas tree will go.  Will it go in the old familiar place, or by a window in a small cottage? I  do like to put the Christmas tree in front of a window, for it seems to say “Merry Christmas to all!” , I think.

At the end of the day, Daddy had received a good report from the doctor, the dog had been to the veterinarian and was sleeping soundly -and Christians’ truck was in the yard.

Many  other things remain a mystery and I wish I could report that I was reacting like a “saint”, but alas, I  stumble awkwardly along, in a daze at times.  I do not feel abandoned nor  not cared for, but sometimes I feel in the midst of a dense fog and how I yearn for a brightly lit path!   Never-the less, there is evidence all around me that  seems to cheer me on .  . .for a sparrow perches in a golden oak . . . a scarlet vine becomes a garland for a lone pine . . . and the first silver star appears in the evening, like an old friend come to call, at just the right hour. 

     

  

 

 

    

 

It did not matter one iota, that the time changed.  Somehow, I managed to awaken at my usual hour.  The wind was up early too.   As the crescent moon faded, I saw  there were more leaves in the yard, and felt sure, many of them would have turned all sorts of colors . . like ruby or amber.  No doubt some would have been delightful shades of orange, but it was not their destiny .  Along with the leaves,  there were small branches littering the territory.  I sat at the “morning table” under a warm blanket, with my coffee while Cash, my boxer and Christopher Robin, my cat, slept unhindered by a clock  -or housekeeping.

Those who read the “rabbitpatch diary”  regularly, know I am not a fan of changing the clocks.  I complain about  it every spring.  Clocks do not create more day light nor night time.  It is as simple as that.  Nature has its’ own rhythm, and it has always worked out fine.  I do not mind, that nights get longer this time of year, for the stars come out when they please, anyway – and no one is going to convince the moon nor  the sun to change their ways, no matter what we call the hour.  If it were up to me, everyone would be home by dark, “safe and sound”, anyway, for I am that old now.

 

I was out on the porch   by the time the sun had climbed over the pines.  I sent more spiders packing and swept wayward leaves back to the earth.  I swept the sidewalk and the steps til finally, the broom was in shambles.  I have had that broom for years and I chided myself for being reluctant to toss it.  It had originally been the house broom, then it became the porch and barn, broom.  I have certainly got my moneys’ worth out of it -and it is just an old broom.  How odd to be  sentimental over a broom, I thought.  Then I remembered that my grandmother was the same way over her broom -and my daddy has a garden hoe, that he used as a child!  So, I decided we are just an “odd lot”, altogether.  

When the porch was in order, I began picking up branches from the yard. One still, dry evening, we will burn the garden.  Kyle loves this ritual and so I hope to do it when he can come.  Kyle has taken up residence with a friend, that lives closer to his work. He calls everyday and never fails to ask, what we are having for supper.

I had several piles of branches, collected,  and so I  decided to go  inside to clean the laundry room.  It stays orderly, but it was dusty.  There was a nightmare behind the dryer.  There were cobwebs and thick dust and lint.  I cleaned the windowsills and put a fresh coat of paint on the cabinet. 

We did not have a Sunday dinner.  Mama and Daddy couldn’t come, so Christian and I had more soup from the day before.  I plan to make up for it on Tuesday.  Mama has an appointment and a meeting, so I will cook at her house, so she can eat in between the two -and I will  spend the night there.  Brant and Christian are coming, after they finish some work at the rabbitpatch.  Tuesday will be an occasion.

On Monday, I awakened to the sound of a steady , morning rain falling.  It was still dark, and so these were the perfect conditions, to linger under my favorite blanket. Most days, I spring out of bed, but on rainy mornings, I like to lay a while and listen to the rhythm of the watery lullaby.  . .for that is exactly what it sounds like to me. Of course, I could not take a bit of liberty, this day, for it was Monday, after all.

Cash, my dog was up and prancing about.  This acts on me better than any alarm clock, for I fear the worst should I waste a moment.  We went to the door at a good pace, with him whining in sheer agony.  I opened the door to the wet morning . Cash stood there like a statue for a few seconds and then sauntered back to his bed.  Apparently, the crisis had been averted, at the sight of the rain.  I made coffee and sat by the “morning table” to gather my thoughts”.

I noticed that the sycamores were a solid mass of a warm russet color.  It is November certainly, though I can scarce comprehend how.  There were more leaves in the yard today, than there were yesterday.  The rain tapped on the leaves, as it fell.  Ever so often a huge acorn would make a loud thud on the roof.  This was a day in Autumn- the kind of day, I am familiar with, in months like November – the kind of day that I love, for the world is lovely when a silver rain falls, and mahogany leaves  fall tenderly to the earth.

I got up this morning at five, as is my habit.  The world was pitch dark and a brisk wind was blowing.  The pines were whispering and for a while, I listened.    Leaves are scattered about the territory now.  I always find it beautiful to look out and see the yard looking this way.  It is a sign of the season  – much as pumpkins and marigolds.  Sunlight falls now where shade used to, for the wind had stripped a fair share of leaves from the old oaks and sycamores.  A few of the roses continue to bloom.  They will be faithful til frost. Otherwise, the rabbit patch is quiet, as it always is, in Autumn.

 

By the time the light comes to the morning, I had a project in mine.  It was the perfect day to take the living room apart and clean.  Soon enough, the house will be closed up for cold weather.  Windows will stay down and soft blankets will be found on the sofas, within arms reach, for a chilly night.  In light of the windy day, I would wash the curtains, as well as the blankets.  . .and remove the cushions from the sofas and tackle the baseboards.  . . and the windows are so very dirty, I would clean those too. 

Before, I gathered the broom and a bucket, I put on a pot of soup to simmer.

I had not even started good, when I realised this would be a two day project, more than likely.  It would do me good to stay busy, I reassured myself, and besides that, it needed to be done, for I was soon convinced that a good deal of rabbit patch soil was in every place it could be. I was no longer thinking about papers and impending dates, for I was on a mission, now. 

While I was cleaning and scrubbing, my mind forgot, briefly, that I am in between two places. . . like “a rock and a hard place”.  On one hand, I am here at the rabbit patch with everything possible, packed in boxes.  On the other hand, is a little cottage freshly inspected and with a fee paid, to secure my contract.  I have settled into this “strange state of uncertainty”  with all the fortitude I can muster.  We are often reminded to “live in the moment”  Truthfully I have always practiced that theory, for I take great note of how the hours pass.  Far be it from me, to miss the beauty of a season.  I crave beauty as I do air-whether it is being with my loved ones or nature or the peace of   solitude . . .but there are some things that  do require a bit of contemplation, like whether or not to carry a raincoat, or when you should get new tires . . . or change your entire life altogether.

By the time, I was washing windows, the wind had become a slight breeze that blew in a friendly fashion.  The sky was a powdery blue and cloudless.  The spirea bushes are a lovely apricot color now, I noticed.  The young dogwood that bloomed for the first time, on the Easter Sunday, that Lyla was born, is crimson, now.  The pecan trees are bare, as are the peach and cherry trees.  As I surveyed the landscape, I wondered if the fierce wind that came in like it had a score to even, may have spoiled the grand finale of the autumn leaves this year.  Like everything else, we will have to wait and see.

Work, of any sort, acts like a tonic on me.  In the summers, the garden  would swallow any worries I had.  The soil acted like a mother, full of comfort.  In springs, there were flowers to plant and weeds to pull.  In the autumns, there are the bushels of leaves dropping daily and in winter, I had the barns, that could always stand cleaning. 

A decade ago, I remember feeling angry.  I went out behind the oldest barn to tell the heavens about it.  I could barely plead my case, because I kept noticing that the shelter off the back of the barn, was so untidy.  I started restoring order, as I grumbled.  A flock of blackbirds showed up and were chattering so much, I was sure heaven could’t hear my fuss over theirs’.  I just hushed altogether and got some paint, for some of the boards were looking so shabby.  As I painted, the blackbirds started a performance.  They filled the sky and started swooping and spiraling.  A thousand of them, at least moved in a motion as fluid as water.  It was a spectacular sight.  I watched them for a while-which could have been a year, as I was so in awe.  By the time it was over, I had painted a few blackbirds on the crude boards, and written, “The heavens declare the glory of God” on the leaning shelter.  It is still there to this day.   So, some sort of work always presents itself at the “rabbitpatch”.

 

 

I had finished the living room and even moved the piano and sofas back in place, when Christian came in from work.  I had used a rosemary scented cleaner to wash the walls and floors, and so on top of everything else, it smelled like a holiday in the farmhouse.  

Of course, while I washed the windows, I noticed the porch needed cleaning and so that got added on the list of “things to do tomorrow”.

I warmed the caulifower bisque for our supper, which was a wonderful conclusion to the day, we both agreed. 

A crescent moon hung high in the sky, when I went out to say my prayers. Stars were scarce but bright.  I had walked into a silence that was so very peaceful, I couldn’t complain about a thing. . .and so once again, the heavens were spared, my grievances, for all I could do, was smile back at the moon. 

It was nice to have a few days off – and I made the most of it. I came to Elizabeth City and spent my time doing the things that I hold dearest, rocking Brynn, playing with Lyla and cooking.   

The days were bright and the sun shone  so cheerfully, that it turned the “laughing river” to a vibrant indigo .  I had never seen it that color and took great joy in finding a new discovery of beauty.  I showed Lyla and she agreed with me that the water was a shade of purple.

Jenny had a friend visiting for a few days.  Julie, from Florida came to meet Brynn.  Jenny and Julie have been friends since they were teens.  To say that  Julie is a free spirit, is an under statement.  Julie has a track record, to confirm this.  She took off out west, to Colorado, when she was quite young.  She did not know a soul, nor have a job waiting.  She attended a concert the first week she was there, and that is where she landed a job.  She stayed there a few years, but at some point, decided to try New Zealand, for she had heard of its’ beauty.  Off she went, alone, and lived there a year.  At some point, Julie went to Finland and declares it was as lovely country as ever was.  Now, she has traveled all over the planet, always alone, but has finally made her home in Florida, for Julie fell in love . . . She and a former schoolmate crossed paths again, a few years ago, and within several weeks, he and Julie were headed to Florida.  That was a three years back, and it is good to write , that Julie is “happy as a lark” ever dared to be.  I listened to her stories in great awe.   I can not pretend that I was not shocked at her sense of adventure. 

 I made all sorts of southern foods while she was there.  There were cheese biscuits, one day, while she talked about Colorado, hamburger in gravy, as I heard about Christmas in Finland – and pumpkin bread as she talked about the beautiful people in Estonia.  Ever so often, I would say “your poor mother”, though all turned out well, for Julie everytime.  If there was ever a quote that fitted Julie, it is ” She thought she could . . .so she did.”

I couldn’t help but think how opposite I am from the brave Julie.  I like to have a plan and take years to make things “as sure as  fire” possible, before I take  the first step.  Hence, I have always been slow to act on impulse.  Now rest assured, I have had a fair share of shocking circumstances.  Planning has never spared me of “rough patches” nor changes.  The things I so thoughtfully prepared for did not always happen, and many things popped up and caught me completely off guard.  I have lived at the “rabbitpatch”  for more than a dozen years, and have worked at the same job for eighteen years. . . and of course, I have never been to Finland.

I have contemplated selling the house, for five years now!  It took me two years to just decide I would.  The last few years, I became serious, and have contemplated the details thoroughly.  . . I have studied the housing market and been able to define my needs.  I have weighed heavily, what is sensible and what is desirable . . . yet,  somehow,  sometimes, it still feels reckless!  Getting older is a complex time.  . .and most especially, when it happens to you.

Now it is Halloween, much to the delight of many children.  In the country, little ghosts and goblins are scarce.  When I first moved here, there were several young children in the neighborhood, that came and it delighted me.  Now, they are all grown up, but I remember them each year.  I still buy candy for my grown children.  Lyla wants to be Dorothy, from “The Wizard of Oz”.  She has talked about it for months.  

I loved Halloween, as a child.  Our church organist. “Miss Arahbelle”  would have a table covered in a fancy table cloth set up in her dining room.  She had all sorts of homemade treats and a big bowl of punch, that we drank, out of little glass cups.  All of the neighbors made cookies or brownies, in those days. Some popped popcorn and some gave out apples. We only went to the homes of family members or long time neighbors, anyway.

One year,a new preacher did a whole sermon on Halloween and discouraged parents from participating -that put a damper on things.  I was a young mother by then with three little ones.  I am sorry to say that we skipped Halloween that year.  I was sure that we would be put on the prayer list, had we observed the tradition or else our children would be doomed.  Braver parents than I, took their little ones out anyway -and what a predicament arose, when they came to our house.  It was like  insult to injury, for my own little children.   The next year they went, with my blessing. They made little thank you notes to hand out, as they went along and it was a lovely time.  Being young, is a complex time , too.

Jenny has never allowed Lyla to have much candy.  The first year that Lyla really went trick or treating, Lyla, dressed like a little fairy, would follow the children to the doors and simply say “thank you!” without taking any candy!  It shocked the folks in the homes, but it tickled me.  Of course, she is carrying a basket tonight, as Dorothy did, and I sure she will accept candy, now . . .which Jenny will ration out, like a miser.

The fields lay golden just now.  The soy beans fields are a lovely russet color.  The sun, when it is just at the horizon, seems to gild the fields til they glow fairly. Even the , cornfields, now spent, and often full of blackbirds are a pleasing sight.  Slowly, but surely, the woodlands are changing  too.  Here and there are flashes of gold and ruby, like a  tempting prelude of things to come.  We have not yet had a hard frost, so frogs still sing in the evening, til very early morning. Under such circumstances, there is little need for heat nor air.  I raise the windows in the  old farm house at the rabbit patch and the sweet country air wafts in.  Combines hum in the distant fields and the blackbirds chatter.  Autumn is a lovely time.

 

 

 

 

 

       

One day turned into another, until somehow, a week had passed.  There were all sorts of things going on.  Daddy had doctor appointments, there was work and last but not least,  the business of selling the rabbit patch. 

Daddy has been diagnosed with a muscular condition.  It has altered his mobility dramatically.  There is really no treatment nor medicine  to remedy this.  The condition is diagnosed, based on symptoms -and  also ruling out  any possibility of some other hateful culprit. . .hence the appointments.  Daddy does not like the many appointments but remains pleasant.  He never fails to thank everyone at every office.  It is a touching conclusion to each visit and moves me to tears.  

Mama has gotten a lot busier.  She is full of devotion to Daddys’ well being.  Her fortitude is a testament and I am in awe of how she goes about her day.  She is diligent with his medicine, indulgent with his food and stern about his hydration.  Though she is very heartsick, about the circumstances, she plows head-long into each day with cheerfulness.

It humbles me, to know that this is where I come from-that these are the people I was given as parents.  There is no doubt about it, I was “born with a silver spoon in my mouth”.  Few things in this life are as valuable as good parents.

I am in Elizabeth City this weekend, where a restless river tumbles by.  The weather is  chilly and warrants a light jacket.  The sun is muted by a thick blanket of clouds, and can not even cast a shadow, for the whole day is shadowed, really.  A constant wind blows loosening a few leaves.  Most of the leaves, save the dogwoods, have not changed yet, from how they looked in August.  It may be Thanksgiving, as is not uncommon, in the south, before the fireworks of the flora brighten the countryside.

Will carved a pumpkin for Lyla, this morning.  It was a complicated design and so the whole affair was tedious. Tonight, Will and Jenny are going to a gathering, just a few blocks away, at the Donahue family residence.  The Donahues’  are always hosting a gathering of some sort, unless they are on the river, or hiking or on an island somewhere.  They are the busiest folks I know of, yet never too busy to lend a helping hand. Many mornings, in fair weather, I will have coffee on the porch.  The Donahues stroll by, on the fourth mile of their walk  with their dogs.  They had breakfast hours ago – and coffee.  Michelle, thinks no more about hosting a party for forty guests, than I do for cooking supper.

I will tend to Lyla and Brynn tonight.  By now, Lyla is a “piece of cake” to stay with and I am an old hand at it.  This is the first time that Brynn will be without her mama and so we are all hoping for the best.   . .especially me.

Now, about the rabbit patch . . .I had all sorts of thoughts, this past week.  Many were gloomy and many were fearful.  This all started in June, and June felt so very long ago.  How could such a shock come up, now months later?  It did not seem possible.  Finally, I was able to have some clarity – this took days.  At some point, I decided all was just as it should be, for I do not pray in vain.  I settled on the notion, that I would be fine either way.  Losing money and unpacking boxes are not the worst things that can happen to a person, after all.

I reminded myself to “practice what I preach” -that things do not have to make sense, all the time.  (That is when faith is most crucial.)  That “all things work together for good . . .”  Many verses came to me – Be still and know that I am God”  and a favorite of mine –“We walk by faith, not by sight.”  I still cried, when no one was looking, not because I did not believe “what I preach”  but because I was just sad.  I chided myself for being sad. I felt as if in some way feeling so disappointed, was an act of betrayal on my part.  At long last, I came to the sweet conclusion, that all was well and that part of being human, is a lack of understanding, at times.   . .and part of being human is responding like a human to disappointments . . .and even worse, real tragedies.  Disappointments are just inevitable, it is what we do with them that makes the difference . . .and it is ok to cry.

I found out on Saturday, that there is at least a bit of hope left, in the sale of the rabbitpatch.  After living a week in such a state, I can say now, that I have less opinion about it, than I used to.

 

P.S.  I want to express my gratitude to all of you for your kind encouraging words, – -for the many who are praying . . I have been moved deeply by the care and concern, you all extended.  I felt so loved and so blessed as I read through the many expressions that seemed to all say ” I love you”.    

The first thing I did this morning, was to put the windows down.  I heard the wind rev up before day break.  The wind nearly howled and a hail storm of acorns made an awful racket, on the old farmhouse.  Still, I did not stir, for I had a very soft blanket -and a cat and a dog at the foot of the bed.  There was nothing to make me rush, one iota.  The dust and spider webs would wait-and Kyles’ bedroom would remain “torn apart” from my project, yesterday.  

As, I laid there , trying not to, I thought about a good many things.  At last, I wanted coffee.  If I were going to be sorting out “the state of the union”, I needed coffee and besides, I can only linger in bed, briefly, after I wake.  That is when I put the windows down.

A bright sun, rose over the cotton field with  a blinding light, proclaiming a new day, while I had my coffee.  Apparently, the joyful sun, was “blissfully ignorant” of any thing amiss anywhere.  I decided to do my best to follow suit and to live this day cheerfully and with good will.   . .and also to tackle the spider webs.

There is no way, to “sugar coat” this . . .a “hitch” has arisen in the sale of the rabbit patch.  I found out yesterday.  I looked at the boxes in every corner.  The beloved, little cottage,  just a short walk from Jenny and my grandchildren, flashed in my mind, –   telling my children, the money I would lose by having already invested in the necessary fees to purchase a new home . . .well it was a shocking and disappointing moment.  Maybe it is not as dire as it seems, but the threat is real and to process this, I had to entertain such notions.

I had been all set to pack, yesterday, besides cleaning the dust and cobwebs, but I halted everything, and took a walk around the rabbitpatch.   I gathered branches as I went along.  I was deeply disappointed, so that I could not speak, even to utter a prayer.  I just walked.  I knew I could trust the outcome.  I knew things work out as they ought to.  I knew , in some way, that this was truly “not my business”, for the whole affair had been given to God, a long time ago.  This did not keep me from feeling  a deep sense of confusion . . .and sorrow.  I also know, “time will tell” as it always does.

Eventually, I was able to shift my perspective, slightly, but enough to muster the former ambition, I had, to clean.  There is a huge old trunk in Kyles’  bedroom full of things, like tea sets and baby shoes.  I took to sorting the keepsakes into boxes with each childs’ name on it, that they belonged to.  After all, I wanted to get rid of the trunk anyway, so there was no harm in this mission. 

I wanted so badly, at times , to pour the whole thing out to a friend.  I did not want to tell any of my children, or my parents -until I could assure them that all was truly well, either way –  and I can not fool Mama, especially .  I just had not gotten to that place yet, myself, so I kept working.  . . and eventually, the old trunk was empty.

I decided to move the bed and commenced to scrubbing, where I usually don’t. One thing led to another, and I finally stopped at dusk, because I wanted to.  Tomorrow is another day, I thought. 

Christian came home, and like Mama, I can not fool him either.  I told him the circumstances and  he said “Mama, don’t worry, things will work out.”  He said it with such confidence, that I believed him.

I went back to Kyles’ room early this morning and hung clean curtains in the clean windows.  As it turned out, I spent most of the day there.  The wind was relentless all day – and so was I.   I covered every inch of space.  I was quite satisfied, when all was said and done.  

Of course, meanwhile, the kitchen had become a disaster , as whatever was being discarded, whatever was being stored, whatever had been washed . . .well, it was all there.  This would never do especially, with tomorrow being Monday, for that changes everything.  I set about restoring order and made good time.

By the time, I was carrying the coffee grounds and some egg shells to the compost, the sky was a pale pink.  The wind had given up, right about the time I did, and there was a stillness over the territory.  The moon was a white globe glowing softly. A cotton field is especially beautiful in moonshine.   It was a lovely moment and so very peaceful.