First there was snow and then continued cold; Sunday the temperature was (gasp) 82? and humid – a tough adaptation for my senior body. ACCCCKKKKKKK!!!!!! Senior body . . . Did I actually type that because it seems so undeniably true to me now?  No. I had a moment of hesitation but decided what’s what is what; the moment it was staring at me in computer print, though, I had an almost anaphylactic response.

Back to my train of thought: Yesterday was a just right day  for working out – sunny and cool.  I raked at Mother’s and picked up yard debris and re-stacked old outdoor furniture for a future determination of what gets rustoleum and what get tossed. We would have done this last summer, but the huge willow came down and crashed into the deck – one man said he thought it was the biggest tree in LaGrange County. It was a heck of a clean up and that was a really hot and humid summer and am I working my way to another senior body reference? Better not be.

A lot of the chairs are retro chairs, only they are the real McCoy from that retro time. They have sat around forever, but I don’t believe people sat in them for the past few years. When Der Bingle sat down in one to contemplate the fallen tree, the metal bent at the curve and he wound up on his back looking at the sky. I think I have pictures, but I’m not looking now. Maybe I will look later; maybe it is on an old hard drive. See, I have things to look forward to . . .

I tried to start the car in the basement garage . . . dead battery. Sigh. I tried one of the lawn tractors; it fired up, but then backfired repeatedly when I took it for a test run. So that means a service call, which I already knew was prudent because I was not as familiar as Mother with the terrain and hit some hidden rocks with the blade and then there was that time when I sucked up the corner of some outdoor carpeting. That was bad. Once I caught a piece of rope that was attached to a tarp. That was bad.

I was accountable and responsible and resourceful, however, and worked in the aforementioned heat for what seemed like forever freeing the blade. Sometimes being resourceful is a pain, dontcha know. Sometimes I just want to yell, “Miss Scarlett, I can’t birth no babies.”

Oh, I also have to get a new knob for one of the gear shifts . . . it just vibrated off one afternoon. I probably then mowed over it and adapted to grasping the gear shift differently. Der Bingle  says we adapt to easily to things that we really should fix. I don’t know – maybe I can make a new knob out of duct tape . . .

I moved old boards and put my hands into grass matted against outbuildings. (See, it was cool enough for snakes not to be likely little yard buddies.) I washed some of the porch windows. And I picked up more sticks. There are still plenty left as well.

In between all this activity, I sat on the porch and relaxed with a cold drink. I did my usual thing of closing my eyes so all the ghosts could come out. Sometimes that brings tears out from under my closed lids, but that’s okay.

When I got up to go back to work I glanced over my shoulder and up for some unknown reason; I saw a mounted puzzle and thought, “Oh, golden rings nestled in the trees” without really being aware of having thought it. Then I stopped mid-step and realized I had also seen girls with a cow and men jumping . . . It came to me – the Twelve Days of Christmas. Leaping lords. Maids a-milking. Gee, Mother, how long was that there and I missed it?