I was raised knowing that “cleanliness is next to godliness.” On top of that, I grew up in a meticulously kept home, which may explain why I’m predisposed toward tidiness. Or maybe it doesn’t — I suspect that somehow I was born this way.
I’ve also come to learn that my penchant for tidiness can get me into trouble.
Deb likes rocks. (We’re still on the same subject here. Stay with me.) Pretty rocks. Interesting rocks. Rocks with fossils.
I know this. So when I exercised my tidiness fetish on the north side of the driveway this week, I didn’t touch the small pile of “special rocks” Deb’s been adding to for over a year.
I mean, I didn’t even go near her special rocks. I limited my cleanup to myriad other rocks, especially the orangish, clay-stained rocks that annoy me so.
When I showed off my work to Deb on Thursday afternoon, she seemed pleased. I sensed, though, that there was something she wanted to say. Eventually she revealed that there were other special rocks, in another spot, and now they were gone.
What’s more, she really likes the white ones stained red by clay. Some she’d saved had cool fossils.
And I’d chucked her rocks.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I found ’em once, I’ll find ’em again.”
I’m sure she will.
I’ll leave you to ponder this happy, otherwise well-adjusted and functional couple — one of whom saves rocks where the rocks outnumber the leaves on the trees, and the other who now hesitates before moving any rock, for fear it’s a special one.
Lately I’ve been doing a lot of pissing and moaning on this blog about aches and pains and exhaustion. That’s all quite real, and it reflects physical limits that creep closer with every day.
But it’s not the whole story.
Fact is, I’m stronger than I’ve been in years. I feel it with every rock I sling, every log I move, every shovel of gravel I lift. And while I have nowhere near the stamina (or the resilience) that I had in my youth, I am, as Toby Keith would say, “as good once as I ever was.”
Another benefit of aging is a sort of practical wisdom that can be won only through experience. Things like leverage. Pace. Setting priorities and the fundamental organizing of tasks.
It’s the ticket to working smarter. And it depends on listening to the little voice that chides me, “Don’t be stupid.”
I do my best.
Seriously, despite my whining, it’s all good. In all the ways that matter, I’ve never felt better.
I pulled on a shirt-jac and a stocking hat early this morning and stepped outside simply to take in my surroundings, as I often do. It was around 7:30am. Deb, having fed the dogs their breakfast, had gone back to sleep.
Rain was in the afternoon forecast, but for the moment it was calm and cool and dry. I found myself drawn toward the fire pit and the wood I stacked there this week.
It felt like a good day for a morning fire.
Over the next four hours I burned a little bit of everything — new hardwood and new cedar, a couple of pieces of the cordwood we bought, lots of stuff scavenged from the nearby woods. Other than sipping coffee, I did nothing but watch, tend and feed my morning fire.
Deb came out about the time the blaze was at its best. Together we watched it burn to chunks, then embers, then ashes. We returned to the camper, where she prepared a simple lunch.
The rest of our day was peaceful. And it all began with a perfect fire.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB