I know, I know. What a cliche! That's about all I can say about what's happening here on the hill. It is day 3 of corn shelling and should be about over once the field across the road is cleared. Pretty soon I expect to see turkeys out there amongst the leftovers. I can actually feel the power of the harvest moon working in my life as I move toward something different. Until I had the time and energy to work on my house, I really did not realize how bad it had become. Not quite hoarders, but definitely not a Good Housekeeping winner. I'm not OCD about clean but I do enjoy knowing where to find something if I need it. I actually sorted bolts and screws from my old toolbox yesterday. There's therapy up in there.
My goals are crystallizing slowly, morphing into ideas with hands and feet rather than random fleeting creative thoughts that get swept up in the details of life. A friend commented the other day that I should write a novel and, in fact, as a blogger I have. The early days were mostly ranty pissy things because I was so mad at Bush and all them. Blogging was quite a "thing" until several months after I started and then everybody and their mama'n'them had one. Print editions have them too which seems to kind of defeat the purpose but who am I to judge. One of my mama's greatest sorrows was that she couldn't read the paper and know what's going on and Daddy just flat refused to read to her. Bg did it a lot and me on occasion. Sometimes Ms. Faye. In her mind if she didn't know the details of every rat killing in Dyersburg she was out of touch.
I got a call at work today from an old friend who played a part in cleaning out Casa Grands at the end. At their thrift store she had found boxes of my mother's hand written diaries and said she cried over how sweet they were. That savvy woman right there is the very reason it takes me an entire paragraph to get across one point. We Reaves girls always embellish.