You know, daily life.

Imbolc                                                                      Valentine Moon

Sundays still exist out of time for me, as if they’re not quite real. They are my rest day from exercise and I usually read, watch TV or movies, do something outside the house. This is psychological residue from years as a Methodist, then Presbyterian. I often worked on Sundays, but just in the mornings. Now, with a pagan sensibility, that old imprinting, the mood of Sundays, still prevails. Seems odd to me, but it happens anyway.

Today is Kate’s colonoscopy. She’s been prepping since 6 pm yesterday. For those of you who’ve had one, you know that’s the fun part. The actual test itself, tinctured with some conscious sedation, is not a big deal, unless of course it reveals some precancerous polyps or actual cancer. They’re relatively quick, over in a half an hour. Then, a good lunch.

Ruth, here for a day of President’s Day skiing with her dad, got sick yesterday afternoon. She spiked a fever in the late evening. “I want my daddy!” Daddy was in Denver finishing up the move I mention below. He did finally get home and things took a turn for the better.

Red flag warning tomorrow, high winds and low humidity mean real and present danger of wildfire. Time to find the pole saw and get to work. The next phase of fire mitigation, which I didn’t finish last year, involves trimming branches on the lodgepoles up to 10 feet above the ground. Branches lower than that potentially become ladder fuel, allowing a grass fire to climb up the ladders into the tree itself.

Well, time for my workout. I’ve successfully shifted them to the early morning, mimicking my appointment times at physical therapy. It will be better in the summer months, too, when the heat builds in the afternoon and mornings are still cool.