Miscellaneous

This morning's hour outdoors included half an hour walking from the top of the hill where Bernie dropped me off on his way to work, down the lovely back way, and half an hour walking from the road up to the house. Road to house can be done easily in five minutes if one does not stop again and again to fill one's mouth with wineberries. What a waste to let the ripest ones hang another day on the vine in this heat, for rot will surely take them. [Waste not, want not. :-) Ah, those voices in my head.] I have no idea how to count the calories, nor a clear idea of how many berries I actually ate. They were delicious, so sweet, so tart.

The horses across the road were being given their grain as I came to my lane. The farm hand rattles the bucket and calls, and the horses come from whichever part of the meadow they've been in. I watched seven horses come from the shade of their shelter, across the bridge built for them over St. Omer's Creek where it runs through that meadow, to their feed troughs. Two of them trotted, then ran. Four walked quickly, then trotted. One walked like I do when everything hurts. Each foot placed carefully, slowly, an uneasy shift of muscle and bone with each step, though no obvious limp.

On the other side of the farm lane, three horses in that pasture came to their fence. There are no feed troughs for them; they get no grain. They watched for some moments as their mates across the road ate their treat, then slowly turned away again. We know horses as temperamental creatures. Do they respond with some emotion to witnessing others given grain when they have only grass?

Yesterday we lost electricity at three in the afternoon and didn't get it back until about seven-thirty. The battery operated thermostat clicked occasionally as the hours wore one and the still air warmed and warmed. Ceiling fans spin and circulate air in most of our rooms, adding greatly to our comfort. I went outdoors a few times and quickly returned inside, in spite of the stillness.

My vacuum stopped when the power stopped. I unplugged and replugged and flipped the switch a couple times before I realized. My inner voice scolded, "You should have done this earlier," and "Gather ye roses while ye may," and "Whatever comes to your hand to do, do it with all your might." Oh my. How would I go on without the wisdom writings to guide me, the ones heard so often repeated that they forever ring inside me?

The fierce storms came later. I heard on the traffic reports through the rush hour (I turned on my little, old battery-operated radio with the headphones, sat in the sunny-window-chair and hand quilted) that Conowingo Road was blocked and closed in both directions by a downed tree. A fallen tree that big, one that blocked both lanes of a highway, could have taken out the lines that supply our electricity. Later, when thousands lost power due to the storms, we were not among them.

I missed the moving air, but I miss our running water the most. No flush toilets, no water from any faucet. I keep a supply of water to carry from the basement, in gallon jugs for the sinks, in five gallon pails for the toilets (if its yellow let it mellow, if it's brown flush it down). There's always drinking water on hand, too. But fresh and flowing is the best, such a blessed wonder. I give thanks many times each day for the blessings of functioning indoor plumbing.

The occasional loss of electricity keeps always fresh in my mind a resonant sympathy for those who live in zones of war or other disasters who must cope without for long periods without cooling, without clean water. When they come to mind I always send them energy-light-prayer. Does that matter? To recognize the common needs, struggles, pleasure and suffering of all humanity, indeed, all Life? Does that persistent, intentional recognition of the commonality of all Life matter? It's the best I have to give...