The very first feeling I noticed upon rolling down the windows was being enveloped in a wet, moist, (yes I know that’s redundant, I’m trying to make a point here), warm cloud. Picture in your mind walking into the jungle exhibit at the Milwaukee “domes” in mid-winter. Picture sliding into a 65 degree steam room. Yep, 65 degrees this morning and heading for 70s. Sorry, my friends up north. I keep telling you to move to St. Louis!
Next sight that met my eyes was the green grass. Now 90% green and growing, I realized I’d be getting on our little tractor soon, mowing my paths and crop circles and smiling while the sun shines ....... or singing in the rain, whichever. Sounds corny? Maybe ...... or maybe it just sounds like someone who loves being out in her nature preserve, enjoying the elements so immensely that she’s usually seen smiling while riding. Without a seatbelt. Wild woman here.
Anyway, the smiling and crop circles are worth it, if only to confound my neighbors ..... fortunately at least 6 acres away. Crazy city woman, they're thinking ..... why does she mow like that? Because I can, I'm thinking. Why don't you?
Driving the mile and a half to our small town, locally owned little grocer is always a pleasure. Our winding blacktop passes farms, forest and fields, beautiful no matter the season. I love envisioning what this world was like for Native Americans ..... rolling hills, thunderous clouds, open spaces, sparkly spring fed streams and then the enormous Mississippi River. Yummy.
Tiny grocers are a treat and I foresee their return as gas prices ridicule us by heightening our economic impotence. As I had forgotten a few necessities for my hunny bear’s (gag now) weekly meals I searched the yogurt section for something which had not expired. OK, tiny grocers do have some minor drawbacks to be worked out. Out of the 35 or so cartons in the cooler I managed 5 strawberry flavors that had not yet expired several days ago. Yay - just enough!
You see I have a routine with my hubby. He agrees to support me like the Princess that I am, and I agree to spend his money any way I want. Seems fair to me. Before you say, "geez, must be nice to be a Princess", this does include cooking and caring for him like he is a King on the day and a half that he’s home each week, and making up all his meals for him so he can eat cooked full o’ love food when he’s on the road. He lives in one of those enormous semis all week long, traveling the midwest and often farther encased in a big metal rolling home that includes his bed, fridge, supper cooker and a few other necessities of life.
Yep, it looks just like that.
So here I am, blogging on my new laptop, sitting in my birthday chair, kitty crunching my left typing hand, windows open to the warmth and birdie tunes, NPR on the radio.
Life is good for a Princess.
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