We have two kinds of wood here. Our woodman each year brings a couple of loads that are seasoned and we have a stash of wood that he has brought from previous years that is more dried out.  I let it dry out because obviously the old wood will get burning faster.  Of course, I realize it burns up faster too and it would be more economical to make kindling out of some of the wood that is delivered each year.

Oh, I really don’t think that will happen – AJ with an axe? And don’t even think of her grandchildren with axes . . . one especially might make you self-defensively remember Lizzie Borden.

But, anyway, the trick is to keep the older wood accessible, that is to not bury under the new wood. That pretty much means moving wood more than once – sort of like in the army where you dig a hole and then fill it and then dig it again. The rotation pattern can get, if not complex, at least something like following instructions not written by native English speakers. Sigh.

My method has evolved into an exercise program. Instead of taking armloads of wood, I carry one piece at a time, holding it in various positions as I tote it to a new place. And then there is the walking from pile to pile and the bending over. Just slow steady walking back and forth and forth and back.

To tell you the truth, it is enjoyable in the sense that you start to physically feel better and you have plenty of time to think whatever you want to. I mean, how many people do you think get within speaking distance of a wood-toter? Not many. Sometimes we I am hefting a good-sized loglet up, and getting ready to tread my path, I think of my mother and grandmothers and great-grandmothers I did not know and for a moment imagine them saying, “Well, at least she can work a little.”

This is not a bad task for a soon-to-be old woman.

Every morning I get an email from Amazon.com, notifying me of the Kindle Daily Deal.  Today, for the second time in not to many weeks, it is Romance Day – 99 cents. I know I seem to be  judgmental here; I really do understand that many people find relaxation in a well-written romance novel. I am just not one of them. When I see the “romance” category, I groan. I’m sure other folks no doubt feel the same about spy and mystery novels, historical accounts and those non-story novels that just wander around someone’s mind.

Der Bingle and my younger son are fans of sci-fi; they would even go out to a bookstore in San Diego – The Mysterious Galaxy – to book signings. They wait for books to be announced and do the pre-order process. Many is the time Der Bingle has started a conversation with, “Such and such title is out today; I imagine Quentin will be reading it as soon as . . .” Then, later, in a three-way call, I will listen while they talk about it.

I guess it is not the end of the world – these Romance Days; I’ll probably get through the day. I may have to spike my iced tea with sparkling grape juice though.

I just thought I’d take a moment to mention someone who did us a big favor: Patrick Snow.  When the car stopped (as in wouldn’t go anymore) at Diamond and Riley with my son driving and Colin in the backseat on the way to school, he stopped and took Colin on to school and then came back and took Robert out to Ensley’s Garage. I didn’t hear my cell phone when it rang and so this fellow helped out . . . and made our day a lot nicer. Thank you, Patrick.

I just saw that yesterday’s little post did not get published and I am not surprised. Yesterday was a fun day – one phone call notified me someone in my household was ONE credit shy of something and then the valve broke on the downstairs shower. WOO HOO. The plumber is coming at 2 pm.

But, wait, apparently the Go Wrong Sale has been extended: The burgundy Buick stopped dead at an intersection this morning. I am wondering about this trend.

WEll, GEE, I thought I had pushed “publish” yesterday . . . so, from yesterday:

I just wrote something and it flowed out of me; I waited then to see if I was done. While my fingers hovered over the keyboard, I thought, “Well, Hell, I’ll use this tool function.” Extra spaces between words – I always get that, so I took it in stride  and clicked “CHANGE” repeatedly. Then it put Wubba in red, like this: Wubba and I clicked “IGNORE” and grinned. I mean ignoring a Wubba is the last thing I want to do.

I wasn’t feeling at all myself yesterday, on top of not feeling well period,
and I spent the day in front of the TV out here on the porch. I just sat here and repeatedly thought how lucky I was that some of the older movies that I had been thinking about were being shown on various cable channels in non-competing time slots.

I did mention in the morning that I wasn’t feeling well, but I don’t think it sank in with people until one person came out, looked at the screen, looked a me and back at the screen and offered, “YOU”RE watching a movie?”
Then Summer came out and looked at me and the screen and asked, “And you’re not reading a book at the same time?”

No. I was just sitting and staring at the screen. I did that all day – FOUR movies.

Of course, now it is today. I am feeling less foggy, although I have already made a couple of hurried bathroom runs. So, what to do? Push it a little or milk it? Do you know how people sometimes just start exclaiming and muttering curses when they are faced with doing the right thing? Well, be glad this isn’t audio.

Okay, the weeblized munchkin is getting up and setting the remote aside.

Oh, apparently I need a pep talk. Visualizing John Wayne here . . . Okay, let’s move ’em out.

It’s uncertain how we’ll spend this week-end because some of us here are feeling not-so-good and are no doubt walking germ factories. Quentin is scheduled to come next Friday and we don’t want to get Der Bingle sick for that so maybe he’ll stay in Dayton. And I would stay on the sofa and Summer would alternate between the other end and her room and we would have Kleenex and blankies handy.

If the under-the-weatherness develops further, I might just put on the weather channel and let Jim Cantore tell me all about the blizzard heading at Boston. They are saying it may top the Great Blizzard of 1978. Makes me feel old and highlights the passage of generations; I’m one of the old-timers now who tells stories of the the GB of ’78. A long time ago, I’d be the one listening to older folks talk about their parents and the storm of 1888 and I heard my own parents tell about the winter of ’36. COLD. Of course, I don’t think watching one on TV is the same as – oh, let’s say, sitting huddled under blankets in the dark by the fireplace, if you’re lucky enough to have one.

Tummies are queasy here as well . . . but let’s not go into detail about that.