I forgot yesterday. Mother asked if I had forgotten; she knows me well enough not to ask if I had called.  I forgot to call David for firewood – a couple of loads for me and a load for Mother, cut in short lengths for her stove. I don’t have to make a note of it here – unless I really want to forget to do it. I figure I will log in four or five times, slap my head as I realize I have forgotten and finally call.

Then it will be stacking time – making the piles of old and new. I have some wood that is oh, maybe 11 years old now, stacked by Quentin, Mother, Daddy and me. I left it for a long time, couldn’t bring myself to use it . . . and then last year thought, “Well, this is stupid.” So I have been using it bit by bit. Those are bittersweet fires; I have them when I am alone and I breathe them in. Well, shoot, now my throat’s all tight and hurting.