Out of gas

Today was one of those beautiful, enticing blue-and-gold days. Whole months can go by in the Adirondacks without such perfect skies. On days like this the cold, grey monotony of blowing sleet seems like a bad dream.

“We should’a been workin’,” Allen observed when I dropped off his milk in town. Over the next few weeks he is going to help me finish up some rough carpentry. “Gonna snow this week, gonna be tough.”

I know. But on the heels of our month-long push we are both too tired. Out of gas. Allen’s wife told me he’d stayed in bed much of the day — “and he never goes to bed.” I drove Jon, milked, cared for the animals, cleaned the kitchen, did some laundry, shopped for groceries, and cooked dinner, but otherwise… nothing. All my brisk, problem-solving mental synapses have stopped firing.

My friend Alison gave me a novel by the author of The Shopaholic series. I’ve never read anything by the woman and don’t even remember the title of this one. But I dove into it and read it in a few hours. Light and silly. Bubblegum for the brain. Very restful.

I have a long list pressing for the week. I have to order a door for the mudroom and tin roofing for the run-in so Allen and I can work on Saturday. I have to write a speech and prepare a presentation to give to DH’s board of trustees on Friday. I may accompany DH to a conference overnight Wednesday and Thursday. I have to pick up a ewe lamb Tuesday. In between there are all the dropped balls of the past month, bills, college registration, budgeting, cleaning.

I hope my usual Type A brain soon returns!

On a different note, with the time change I finish evening chores as dusk is falling. As I pulled the barn doors shut tonight there was a huge full moon rising over the mountains. The lamps were lit in DH’s cabin, where he was taking a break after work, reading. The new pasture fences marched up the hillside. The garage sat neat and white in the moonlight, looking old-fashioned and New England. My heart almost hurt with happiness.

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