Because my stomach has been a rollercoaster wave machine since Saturday. And that’s not normal.
But guess what kids—you can’t take a sick day when your already covering someone else’s job at the office while she’s away on a Vegas vacation for the week. Well, you could, but your boss probably won’t let you unless you force her hand by bodily fluids.
Realizing today that it is the last weekend I’ll be at my place before puppy (because next weekend is Easter, and the one following I’ll be back home for the annual Pioneer Power Swap Meet, gettin’ my flea market on) has forced me to clean like I’ve never cleaned before. I sit down and say to myself, “I’m tired, that’s good enough,” and then jump back up in shame when I remember that I’ll likely say that same thing every week night and then it’ll be too late.
“Why do farmers farm, given their economic adversities on top of the many frustrations and difficulties normal to farming? And always the answer is: “Love. They must do it for the love.” Farmers farm for the love of farming. They love to watch and nurture the growth of plants. They love to live in the presence of animals. They love to work outdoors. They love the weather, maybe even when it is making them miserable. They love to live where they work and to work where they live. If the scale of their farming is small enough, they like to work in the company of their children and with the help of their children. they love the measure of independence that farm life can still provide. I have an idea that a lot of farmers have gone to a lot of trouble merely to be self-employed, to live at least a part of their lives without a boss.”—Wendell Berry (bringing it to the table)