some stray thoughts

There’s not much happening in the human sector on the farm today.  My list of

outside projects is on hold as the rain pounds down and the wind spins the last

of the maple tree seeds and leaves past the office window.  It’s a dreamy day,

effortlessly neutralizing any energy I have.  I can’t even generate any guilt about

not finishing half the projects I’d hoped to, so I think I’ll save some time and skip

to the acceptance part of the grieving process.  At least that’s productive.

I wanted to check in with you before the weekend, which promises to be busier 

than usual.  Yesterday was sunny, but I had to go to the mainland to get a contact

lens fitted.  Yes, one lens.  Fifteen years ago, I whacked my right eye with the metal

end of a bungee.  Now I have 20/400 vision in that eye.

I was having trouble putting the contact in.  It kept falling off my finger or failing

to stick to my eye.  I asked the optometrist to help, and she promptly dropped the

contact down a sink drain.  “I wanted to reorder that, anyway,” she claimed, “I

didn’t like the weight of it.”

The day wasn’t a complete wash.  I did some shopping and there’s a Subway close to

the doctor’s office, so I was able to snag some sandwiches for supper.  And I scored

lots of cardboard for the garden expansion.

Monday Slinkee and I went out to harvest the remainder of the chanterelle mush-

rooms.  We’d had two frosts already.  There wouldn’t be many left.  Good neighbour

Paul had just e-mailed about a cougar sighting nearby — a young aggressive male.

That’s the cougar, not Paul.  I don’t have a gun yet.  I’ve yet to find the time to take

the safety course required to buy one.  The best weapon I could come up with was

some blue spray paint.  I figured it could sub for pepper spray.

I kept Slinkee closer than usual, paid more attention to my surroundings than

usual, and sang.  I’d been thinking about that Jimmy Buffett concert I wrote about

in the last post, so I screeched through “Why Don’t We Get Drunk and Screw?” 

That worked.  After two hours of scouring the forest, we headed home.  When we

got in the house, I thought “really, Allen, would a young aggressive male cougar 

circle you for the 60 seconds recommended to shake the paint can?”  I dare say not.

Has anyone else ever lost their car keys in a dream and found them in another

dream?