Whipped

Whipped

simon chin on gate

All feeling a little whipped tonight. Two lambs born in Buxton while we were raking brush, moving lumber, and planning kitchen v2.3 — so a little overhead of anxiety. Simon rested his chin hopefully on the door frame of the pen.

And a stepson’s cat came out of the hospital and went back in; and my brother-in-law had a sudden unexpected need for a pacemaker implant (accomplished today).

So “real life” was perhaps a bit more “with us” than we would have liked to admit. These cares are not a burden, of course. But we do look forward to being a bit more settled, settled on a foundation from which we may be better equipped to reach out and help in concrete ways.

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We drew out countertops and positioned appliances, mused and hemmed and hawed, took measurements, and beat a hasty retreat, to attack it all again (on paper) tomorrow.

I got the third screen in on the porch, then covered them all again with plastic against tonight’s rain.

Marsh alternated between picking through the broken glass around the camper site and continuing her clearing of brush and brambles from areas where we want dogs to run, or paths, etc. Guess which activity injured her finger? Yep, the brambles.

Here’s what a 25-year-old paperback looks like after being buried in the woods:

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Isn’t that luscious?

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