"And who among us has not gotten a dog drunk?"
Ah- that is my favorite quote of the day and I heard it in the book I'm listening to which is Alexander McCall Smith's Bertie's Guide To Life And Mothers.
As I have noted before, Mr. McCall Smith can write books in approximately the same amount of time it takes me to read one. He is the very definition of prolific and I love to listen to the audio versions of his novels. They are all so well done and his characters are too. From Precious Ramotswe who lives in her beloved Botswana and runs a very well known ladies' detective agency to six-year old Bertie, an incredibly precocious and long-suffering child whose mother we really would like to see fall down a manhole into a stinky death.
Or maybe that's just me.
Anyway, the website for Alexander McCall Smith may be found here and it is every bit as charming as his books which, say what you will, bring me great pleasure and are soothing and delightful and I refuse to feel guilty anymore about not reading Great Books which do NOT bring me pleasure but make me feel very anxious.
So. There is that.
I spent a day mostly outside, gathering up burnable materials from the roof project and hauling them to the burn pile and cleaning the hen house and doing a little gardening and a little laundry, etc.
I would feel as if I had accomplished something but Vergil and Mr. Moon are still working, in the dark, trying to get another part of a porch roof dried in and I suppose that has something to do with possible rain.
Bless their hearts.
"Are you almost finished?" I asked my husband as he came in to get a flashlight. He hemmed and he hawed and he said finally, "No."
"But, but..." I said.
"I know," he said, and took the flashlight outside where they are still sawing and cutting and god knows what and I feel terrible for them but what can I do?
I asked Vergil today if he knows how much we love and appreciate him. He said that he does and I said, "Well. I hope so."
Tears came to my eyes and I walked away because I always feel as if I am too emotional around that man who is so pragmatic and cheerful. Aw well. I suppose he is used to this sort of behavior, having been married to Jessie for some time now. She is certainly more cheerful than I am generally, but no one can say that she is not emotional at times. It is the way of our family.
And so another Sunday has passed, almost, or at least it is dark. Time to put the chickens up, time to make the supper. I hope my husband can stay awake long enough to eat it. Tomorrow my daughters and August and I are going to drive up to Thomasville, Georgia to do fun girly things and I am very excited about that. It is rare that we all get together for an outing like this.
Family and family and family and family. Working and playing and crying and laughing and birthing and marrying and making more family and more, gathering in and reaching out and each one of us a part of something whole. The thought of it all blows me away and I am thankful, so thankful, for all of us and the fact that the very roof over my head is being protected and made stronger. A metaphor and a reality.
I am grateful. For so much.