I am thankful to be sitting in a warm and dry home with power. Seems like my town got off lightly, but it isn’t over (the wind is still gusting). I look forward to the next calm and sunny day.
I am still uneasy. My father’s post operative experience has been less than ideal. He and my mother seem upbeat, but it is hard for me to relax when I am not there to judge the situation first hand.
I spent some time writing a short letter to a friend who’s wife died recently. I didn’t want to send a card, but as I considered my words I am not sure I did a better job than Hallmark would have. I wish I could stop by his home to say hello. Distance makes things hard.
Lacey’s work has been tough lately. She is committed to the mission and will work to make things right, but as she struggles I have a hard time saying goodbye to her in the morning. Each evening I look forward to her homecoming so I can try to give her the loving kindness she needs and deserves.
Time in the kitchen always helps. I made a rich stock in which I will cook quinoa with cashews and raisins. I will slice and roast a butternut squash, some cabbage and an apple. From the fridge I will heat up black-eyed peas and kale. Sweet, sweet electricity.
I also dressed up for a picture I will send to my work in DC. Tomorrow they will wear costumes to work and I send a picture to share in the fun. I don’t spend much time considering my costumes. For me, thought doesn’t improve the result, so I just toss on something, take a picture and send it in. One year I was Mahatma Randhi. I was disqualified for photoshopping my head bald (oh–and myself in front of the Taj Mahal). Fair enough. Still my favorite costume of all time.
One time I sewed some reflective house wrap into a suit. Way too much effort for the result. Lesson learned. Sorry I can’t find the picture just now. Another time I put on some leathers from my motorcycling days and used black lipstick to draw a mustache on my face. That year I learned my employer sends the images to clients. Lesson learned. Not sorry I can’t find the picture (but it surely resides on a few servers around the country sleeping soundly until I run for office).
This year I was “Adirondack Woodsman Relaxing at a Tiki Lounge (Having Survived Sandy).” Not terribly imaginative, but maybe the caption saves it? The gun is my childhood pellet shooter. I killed just one bird with that thing. Felt sick immediately. Lesson learned. From then on, plastic army men, model cars and our wood fence endured my insults.
Time to feed the dog. Be well.