Thoughts Are Not Feelings
Someone asked me about my feelings and she said,"Thoughts are not feelings."
I said I would have to think about that.
So, I'm thinking about it, but I am not sure what I feel about it.
The little dream garden, the rest stop for fairies and imagination, is doing well. It is tended by a gnome and is lit by a candle lantern. The chickens like to peck the violas, but they have not done permanent damage. Chango drinks from the fountain.
Speaking of chickens, Betty is crouching. Hens do that when they expect a rooster to come courting, and so now instead of bolting when we approach her, she hunkers down and endures our fawning. It's what a hen does! She's a she. I thought we had roosters so lazy they wouldn't crow, but we actually have hens. Eggless hens.
Our ailments are finally abating. It's so hard when in the thick of congestion and weary eyed woe we forget what it feels like to be well. Maria is still coughing, and zounds is she ever t e n d e r. Fragile, delicate, moody... all of the above. I hope that with better sleep and more time in the sun, visiting gardens and playing, she will feel better. Physically and emotionally more like the Maria we know.
William and Alex are on break. They have 9 days to savor their scholastic freedom, to sleep a bit later and luxuriate in unscheduled hours. Max's break will begin promptly when the bell rings Tuesday afternoon. I am looking forward to our days together. I foresee little adventures and holiday fun.
To add to our anticipation of fun, my Mom is visiting. And Ruth is almost completely settled in to her So Cal home, so this week we'll have 2 grandmas in town + we'll be visiting Great Grandma Eunice, and then Abuela Antonia will be attending the princess derpday! Busy, full days are ahead.
And now... and now I should clean, but instead I may tiptoe upstairs and finish a few gifts I am working on, and then I may tiptoe downstairs and add the final stitches to a quilt... the Aloha Quilt. Why tiptoe? I am the only one around here who might admonish myself for not cleaning. I think I must really like sewing. It feels compulsory. It feels good, like a wonderful escape. It feels like what I want to spend my time doing. It feels like not thinking.