It has been an altogether pleasant day. I slept in, made me half a pot of coffee, and drank it quite leisurely, with my sweet dog at my side. So very much at my side, in fact, that I’m thinking of changing his name to Barnacle. I could call him Barney for short. Then I decided to clean the winter gunk from my patio table and dine alfresco. It was late for breakfast, but I wasn’t having a Bloody Mary, so I hesitate to call it brunch. Food just tastes better outside. I don’t care if it’s just a bologna sandwich, or peanut butter and crackers, there’s just something about the sun on your face and the wind in your hair. I watched a woodpecker sail right into the hole in the dead tree and clouds puff across the robins-egg-blue sky. I watched all the cars race by, people on an important mission to do things they probably didn’t even want to do. People who would probably be bored to death sitting on a porch watching woodpeckers and eating biscuits with their dog glued to their side. I wasn’t bored, but I was procrastinating. Saturday is housework day.

But I got everything vacuumed and dusted and swept and scrubbed. I did not strike a lick at laundry or cleaning my furniture, as is my custom on time change weekends. Yes, I am aware I’m a week late on the time change cleaning, anyway. See procrastination statement above. There’s always next weekend.

So here I sit in my clean house, on a beautiful spring Saturday night, listening to more people run the roads, and I don’t have the slightest desire to be anywhere else. I think I must be old. I already know I’m dull. But I’ve already had my night on the town this week. I’m content with my new candle flickering on my (dustless) coffee table, Barnacle—I mean, Chester, dozing beside me and making gentle shuffling noises in his sleep, and the prospect of finishing another book tonight. Somebody has a fire going nearby and the smoke is beginning to curl in through my open windows.

I am often alone, but rarely lonely. I saw a TikTok today that had a man giving pointers to other married men on how to woo your wife. One tip was letting her sleep in ✔️ Another was offering to take the kids for a few hours so she could do whatever she wanted in peace and quiet, like take a bath or eat junk food and watch TV. And for the millionth time, I was once again thankful I didn’t have children. I cannot imagine having to cater to tiny humans constant needs and having to carve time out of my day to do the things I see as commonplace. Lort. It’s hard enough being responsible for a dog, and I’ve been doing that my entire life. I’m glad I don’t have rabbits anymore. What a pain. I do miss horses, but not enough to go get one. Yes, I am completely aware of how selfish I am. But I’ll ask you again: is it selfishness that I had the foresight to realize what my expectations of life were and know that children would affect my desired lifestyle, so I chose not to have them? Not trying to start a debate here, but when people call me selfish, I wonder if they thought about it like that? To me, selfishness would be if I had a houseful of young uns dependent on me for supper and baths and I went flitting away for a night on the town with the girls. On a whim, I mean, not as a planned excursion with a sitter lined up, or what have you.

But at any rate, this is my life and I’m happy with it. Maybe I learned to be that way, that adjustment was necessary. I had a conversation this week about the definition of weak minded. In my opinion, it means letting circumstances cut you off at the knees and not trying to recover. Things that happen to everybody eventually, like the loss of a parent after a terminal illness, or a breakup, or a surgery, or the loss of a job, or a car wreck. Obviously truly traumatic things like the death of a young child or a house fire or something equally catastrophic warrants a longer recovery and professional counseling. I’m not trying to trivialize anyones distress, but you’ve got to overcome so many things throughout life and just keep trucking. I’m not saying don’t grieve, I’m saying don’t wallow. The other person saw it as more of mind over matter, like willing yourself well when you were down with the flu, or endurance of lifting objects for an extended period. It reminded me of a karate class I’d taken way back in college. We all lay on our mats and our sensei (instructor) asked us to move our right foot. We did so. Then our left foot. Then our big toe on our left foot. That wasn’t so easy- you try it. Then our pinky toe. I found it impossible. And sitting here, I still do. Mind over matter? Maybe,

Now, a word about Bradford Pears.

I hate them, they’re invasive, they smell terrible, they wreck havoc on my sinuses, and they break and make a great big mess. They’re killing out native pears and completely taking over. Farmers can’t stay ahead of them; they’re worse than cedars. The hybrids have thorns. Right now is a clear illustration of how much they’ve spread, just look for their white blooms. As if our farmers didn’t have enough to do. “Something else to fight,” one sighed in a recent conversation.

So stop planting Bradford Pears. Start chopping down every one you see. I’ll give you a quarter- that’s what I used to get for hoeing thistles. Must provide evidence of dead tree. Limit $5, then you’re just doing it for the greater good and I thank you 😁

I hope y’all have a lovely Sunday and find things to enjoy and be thankful for.

Love from Appalachia,

~Amy