It’s cool enough now to start burning shit. Stuff we’ve been accumulating over summer. It’s been piling up. The kids tossed a plank on the big pile and used it for games. Brent moved some of the pile. Games are over. The pile is ready.
Our farmhand-we’ll-call-him-josh lit it on fire.
Then we watched.
Brent took Z a bit closer to feel the heat.
I’m always nervous with bonfires because I’m from San Diego. In San Diego, when things are on fire, they tend to keep on keeping on and things get disastrous.
The grass is wet and things are cool, so things burned well and then stopped.
I loves me some sports cars. A friend of ours popped over to visit in his Lotus. He popped over, but once he saw our driveway, Brent escorted him to our friend’s place to park. This British Green is very low to the ground. Great for handling the country roads of France, but not so good with rocks, holes and gravel.
Lovely car indeed. I’m more of a Porsche man myself, but I appreciate all cars with swift acceleration and leather interior.
Other than how awesome this car looks, I can’t dive into the details of how it works. Evidently, this is one of the few cars that has a carburetor. “Wow!” I say, not really understanding the level of wow. I took a picture. I also learned that America and the Commonwealth spell “carburetor” differently. I’m not sure how our friend spells it, but the options are: carburator, carburettor, or carburetter. So there you have it.
He invited me to drive it. I sat down, started the engine, but it wouldn’t start. I’m guessing my geeky readers would know why…
After consultation, the car started, I put my hand on the gear-stick and chickened out. I know … I know… but you see, the car was inverted. I’ve never driven manual on the wrong ( right ) side of the car. I’m happy to try on some run-around Vauxhall, but the Lotus? If I drive on the wrong side of the car, I like to have a full inversion and also be on the wrong side of the road.
Anywho, he took me for a spin. I ghost breaked around the corners and leaned in when we passed a car. It was great fun! Nice to feel that low center of gravity again.
But now, Happies is found. Happies ( pronounced Happeez ) is Zelie’s favorite teddy bear. His name was inspired by Lucy’s favorite bear, Happy Bear. There were a few months there where every stuffed bear was called “Happies.” Now, this bear reigns supreme.
Poor Happies went missing weeks ago. Every night, when we tuck her in bed, she asks where Happies is. “We’ll find him tomorrow,” we’d lie.
Brent and resident farm hand, we’ll call him “Josh,” set up some bonfires. As you know, every project requires the use of heavy machinery. Brent played shuffleboard with the brush to be burned. “Happies!” Brent yelled. “Omagaw!” I thought. “WFT?” Josh squinted. Then I climbed up the woody bits to fetch him.
Back to the house he went to the arms of his favorite person. I told Z Daddy found him.
Thankfully, we didn’t burn him in the bonfire!
Minty and I left this morning for a quick Sunday shop. Z and the boys were on the hay bales. This is the first time I’ve seen Lumi on the bales. This is usually Jiggy’s thing. Beautiful day today. Happy cows. Happy chooks. Everyone was fed and set early. Brent managed to catch up with a World Cup game starring Japan and some other dudes.
Other than the chorus, I’ve never listened the lyrics to “September Morn” by Neil Diamond. This morning, I didn’t feel like ” two lovers playing scenes from some romantic play, ” but I must admit, there was a healthy balance of sun and lovely. “Sun and lovely” is all I got. I’ll leave Neil to write the grammy winning feeling. In September Morn, he also sings “So far from where we used to be. But not so far that we’ve forgotten how it was before.” Yeah, I can feel that. There was a huge distance from Choreographer to High Tech. There was another leap from High Tech to Fuck It. And yet another distance from Fuck It to Farmer. I’ve not come this far and forgotten how it was before. How it was before has driven me to get here. We take the best of before and apply it now.
I’ve been using electronic smart palm devices since the Cassiopeia days. A small Windows machine that helped me remember dates, meetings and all things with a time attached that required my attention. I chucked my newly purchased, speed yellow leather “diary” in the trash and off I e-went. In theory and day-to-day life, it worked. I made my meetings and remembered dates perfectly. All the electrical meeting requests and birthdays and playdates and off-sites were dinged in my direction with ten minutes warning. The ones that I had to add by hand on the device, were too painful. So I would try to remember them. Or write it on a Post-it note and stick it to my device to be typed in later when I was at my desk. But, I was missing something. Progress. The Post-it note would fall off and with it, my idea of moving something forward.
It’s a read-only device these things. My many attempts to add a thing was painful. So many questions. What is the name of the event? Is it recurring? What is the start time? What is the end time? Where? That’s not a correct date. Did you mean pm? Would you like to invite friends? Who, then, bitch, who? Would you like fries with that? Dismiss? Snooze? Remind me later? Ah!
My palm pilot days began way back before kids. what? thirteen years? fourteen? Fifteen, let’s say. Fifteen years later, I went back to my paper ways. My book cost me 1 Euro 92 centimes. My progress? Priceless. I look at a date, I write what needs to happen and then I am done. For so many years through school and my dance career, that’s how I rolled. I got a lot of stuff done. So simple. Start time is important. Then, when things get close, we can talk about duration.
Right, blog time over. Back to customers … one is coming soon for steaks!
Meat chicks have arrived. They are getting acquainted with their new surroundings. New grass, bugs, flowers, they spent more time exploring than eating the store-bought chicken food.
The herd watched us load in the chicks. They were not impressed. “What about me? What about our needs???” The bellowed. But, quickly found other grass to chew on.
The chicks were impressed with the choice of food on offer. Now we move them once or twice a day. They always have access to green. They never run around in brown, dusty dirt.
Total flop of a tomato harvest. Too hot. I managed to harvest two small tomatoes of which I fried up for Brent. It went with his “potato, leek, garlic, egg and shit” breakfast. I halved them. Too small to slice.
Meanwhile, friends had no problem with their tomatoes. In one day, I received a ton of tomatoes from three friends. Today, I processed them.
These are for the pot.
These are for happy misses chickens. They love tomato skin!
So now, let me ruin a classic Cuban song for you. You’ll never sing it the same way again.