I’ve been home from vacation for four days now and everything seems to be back to normal. My feet and legs are no longer swollen. I can gaze down at my tender tootsies and marvel at their slenderness, despite their high arch and claw toes. I am no longer reminded of the elderly lady clad in black, wearing support hose, whose legs are as thick as a tree trunk with feet to match crammed into heavy black shoes.
My sleep pattern has returned to normal. I am back in my own bed – the waterbed I’ve had for thirty years and have had a love hate relationship with for the past year. I sleep through the night with what seems to be endless dreams of wonderful weirdness. I wake up refreshed and ready to face the day.
I don’t hear the sounds of mourning doves, white owls (Philip’s bird of choice) or the beast that haunted our roof top for one very long sleepless night. Ahh – the sounds of silence.
My cat is talking to me in the morning, reminding me that feeding her should be my first act of the day, that is, after my visit to the bathroom. She likes bathroom time, too, when she gets her belly rubbed, her eyes cleaned and a poke or two from my feet. Her welcome home gift to me was a dried up hairball in my bed. Thank you, Chloe, I missed you, too.
Now that I’m home, I have to start cooking again. I don’t really look forward to cooking. I think most people like having someone else cook for them. Usually, someone else’s cooking always tastes better. I say usually – we all know someone who cannot cook no matter how hard they try. They are blessed with many other talents. I’m not pointing fingers, but you know who you are.
Now that I’m home, I have to be responsible. I have to buy groceries, do the laundry and keep the house tidy. I have to get my accounting ready for year end. I have to prioritize my work – again. What gets done first? Farm, church, SHARE, personal, estate? When do I fit in the time to write?
You may ask – Aren’t you writing now?
To which I reply – Yes, finally.
