It is one of those days when my thoughts are as bright and random as autumn leaves. Thank goodness we do not, at this point, have those happily colored leaves skipping through the air and cluttering up the garden. We do, however, have other harbingers of the new season. The soy beans are half way through the cycle of turning a coppery gold, the corn stalks are less full and are well on the way to becoming the color of buttered brass we so love to use to decorate mailboxes and doorways. There are cool nights and hot days while the sun angles its way further south. I noticed a fine brown haze hanging in the air a few fields over; our neighbors must be harvesting corn. The insects sing louder this time of year, as if they know their time is running out.
I have been thinking lately (when I could think) about what a traditionalist I am. Given a choice, I will go with tradition every time. My favorite ice cream is vanilla, favorite patterns are plaid and paisley and houndstooth, my favorite fabrics are cotton and silk, tweed and linen. I prefer round cut gems and like my pizza naked, just sauce. I am conservative to a fault and open minded enough to listen to another point of view. If all of that isn’t bad enough, I did something today that no woman should ever do during or just after an illness, I looked in the mirror. OMG indeed! Paste has more color, let me tell you. And my hair, oh my, gray shooting out at weird intervals and fuzzy curls pulled back in a style worn by millions of mid-west housewives. What are we thinking? Ladies, do look in the mirror, please! Great God, I seldom leave the house but even I cannot look at that! I have decided the most diverse thing about me is my passion for New Age music. Wow, now that is living on the edge.
Ah well, life is good. No headache today and I can enjoy the beautiful sunshine. Oh, and least I forget, I can clean. I suppose that would be the thing to do. I would have to crawl under a rock and die if anyone saw my house right now. My motto is, there is more to life than cleaning house, alas, I cannot abide dirt.
There is always hope.
Betty
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