Without A Point
Some days it is so quiet, there is so little traffic in my cyber world, that I feel as though I am alone. Unseen. And then I feel as though I am at liberty to say or do whatever I please.
Quick. No one is looking. Say what you really think.
Then I think of other things, like chickens, and raised garden beds, the leaking roof, cleaning.
Before the rain, the days were like spring. There was a warmer sun. We were weeding this week, and pruning roses. We have nine roses, and now, thanks to Karen, they are all pruned and fed and ready for the real spring.
Anyway, before the rain, I was stretched out on the lawn and watching Betty have a dust bath. And I had my camera with me.
She looked left. She looked right. She looked right at me and she did not seem to mind that I was close and admiring. She did not seem to mind my big, black camera.
Oh Betty. I love you Betty.
You should see the pictures I took of Max. He's even better looking than Betty, but he won't let me show those pictures.
Geoff and Max are going to Parker's birthday party. Two years old already? Maria and I are sniffling a bit too much for public interaction. I hope people are grateful for our polite sacrifice, as we are very sad to miss the fun. *sigh* Alex is off to robotics, and maybe William is under the weather too, because he did not sleep well.
Why do we say under the weather? Are we ever above it? I wonder what it could mean if we said "I am in the weather."
Utterly pointless, which is my prerogative, and it is also my special right to include links to the dictionary, when a word strikes a chord.
I can almost suppose why we use the expression strikes a chord, but I am not sure it is a good expression; not for me. I do not play.
However I am feeling about the world, or my life, or the day, when I see Betty run, when she comes to my call, I feel happy. Truly happy. And the happiness lifts me, or heals me, or simply makes me laugh in spite of anything else hanging around my heart. And for my own gratification I would like to write this down: I love you Betty. I am so glad you live here, and that you eat grubs, take dust baths, give eggs, run around the yard, and clean my kitchen floor. You are simple, yet lovely. You are messy and silly. You are something inexplicable, which is good. I like a little mystery.
I may go for a walk. I am meaning to put things away. Kitchen things and backyard-camping things, laundry (clean and dirty), toys, papers, shoes and mud seem to have gathered, converged, and spread all over our home. Not even Betty can help me with this. I may walk, then put things away. I may skip the walk, and watch something on television. I may change the subject, because even I am getting bored with the pointlessness of this...
Isn't she fortunate? I cannot escape my deep thoughts and other musings, but she can. And she does. Run, Betty. Run!