Skipping Along

Remember what a triumph it was as a child when you became coordinated enough to actually do that hop-shuffle thing called skipping?  It was almost like coming of age.  I must be reverting to childhood these days because I'm doing a lot of skipping.  I skip going to the store unless I need something crucial.  I skip cooking if there's cereal in the cupboard and milk that isn't long past its due date (I don't use a lot of milk) in the fridge.  I skip a day of blogging because lately there just isn't much blog fodder.  I still sit in front of the computer of a morning and my mind is as blank as the screen.  Long gone are the days of milking goats, Louie the pig and Poppy the sheep, and Tattletale Tessie and that big flock of chickens.  Weekend parties and cooking for twenty or so friends and family are well in the past.  I can't blame it all on Covid, but the pestilence certainly is a factor.  Sigh.

Once is enough for Michael to consider even a chance event a habit.  In addition to our "business" walks, we now go out twice a day to just sit.  We sit in the sun in the morning and in the shade in the afternoon.  Since he takes the lead, our direction and destination are his choice.  He hasn't wanted to head down the driveway lately so I haven't got a shot of the Cecile Brunner rose that is heavily laden with those delicate little pink roses that always make me think of prom corsages.  It's really outdoing itself this year.  The heirloom roses in the Pig Garden (Louie's old pen) are also blooming.  They were chosen for their perfume, not necessarily their big, blowsy beauty.  California poppies are bright orange exclamation points here and there on the property, and the peonies are heavy with buds, at least ten on one plant alone.  Yes, I enjoy our walks, too.

The sun's up and, as John Wayne would say, it's time to head 'em up and move 'em out.

Stay safe.  Be well.