I’ve been thinking…a dangerous pastime, I know. Maybe I’ve been watching too many Waltons/Extreme Makeover: Home Edition/Downton Abbey episodes as of late, but I’ve been having odd thoughts about mortality. We get so worked up, so upset about things, that in the end, really, mean absolutely nothing. Everyone I know is having babies, even the gay ones!, and I’m wondering if that alters one’s life perspective. Perhaps. I know I need someone to help carry the hay while I feed the llamas!
Goldfinches in a wild cherry tree. We don’t forget moments like that. I was carrying our baby goat Terri around the barn today when I looked up into the sky because I heard a hawk above. And sure enough, baby Terri and I saw him sweeping over the neighboring cornfields, looking for his dinner, calling out, perhaps in anger, as he did so. Those are life moments. Like seeing goldfinches in a wild cherry tree. They don’t happen every day. They remind us, connect us to, the power of what really matters. Hakuna Matata!
I don’t know about you, but for too long I’ve been living under a cloud of sarcastic negativity. And that has to end. Tonight. Our lives are imperfect, perhaps because we’re meant to question the very lives we are leading. We may never be perfect, but I know I’ll only be 32 once. I’ll only have Bob Evans for a finite number of years. I live on a farm that pulses with a unique life energy 24-hours a day. My baby ram comes to me for re-assurance every day, because he knows (I like to think), that I was there when he was born.
Don doesn’t know it, but when he leaves for business to Washington, D.C., I drink champagne. He would be angry, I know, as it was bought for the bed and breakfast. But it’s delicious. And, as the re-incarnation of Marie Antoinette, it’s in my blood! Sorry, Donnie, but I’m going to drink the champagne. Life is short. I shouldn’t, nay, I can’t, worry about everyone else who may wish harm upon me (and my businesses). And the champagne can’t be left all alone in the wine cooler. It get’s so lonely.
I went to pick up my dry cleaning the other day, only to find out it was rejected. That’s never happened to me before. It turns out there was too much cat hair on some of the clothes. Mea culpa! I forgot about it for too long, and a combination of Jack, Ms. Kitty, and Fancy made our delicate sweaters and over-priced suits their beds. Initially, at the dry cleaners, I was upset. My former city self started to emerge. “Clean it – damn the hair – you’re a cleaner after all!” I wanted to shout, but held it back. Because I’m changing. If the cats want to sleep on a fluffy down jacket – if only because I was too slow to take it to the cleaners when I should have – then so be it. The jacket does not matter. And I can lint roll it to death! (And find another cleaner as my city mouse hasn’t died completely and they should’ve cleaned it!)
As I face a week with major events on the horizon, I’m bolstered with excitement. This is my year. My time to live as I intend, with those I love! Tomorrow, when you wake up, don’t curse what may lay ahead, but instead think of the possibilities. We are amazing. And if someone tells you otherwise, they’ll have to answer to Bacon, Bob Evans, and everyone at Orchard House! We’re a family, and you’re a valued member!