this is me, jumping back into the blogging habit and just doing it. Not trying to catch up (gah… we did a LOT over the summer) just not thinking about writing, or sentence structure or What I Did All Summer and just.. .write.
My hands sometimes hurt. My right hand, finger bent sideways to type. I can see the skin aging on the backs, the veins sticking out. They are turning into my grandmother’s hands. This is not so bad.
Supper is in the oven. The pouring rain stopped just as suddenly as it started, the orange and red leaves almost neon in the sun, highlighted against the dark cloudy sky. I grabbed my wallet and jogged across the road to the vegetable stand my neighbours run.
No large bags of potatoes this year. They sold really well, there’s not enough left to bag up that large. I took two ten pound bags and two and a half pounds of carrots, rummaged from plastic buckets, brushing the mud off them. Nine dollars please.
Mashed potatoes, carrots and individual meat loaves for supper. I took the time today to think about it, after my brain could obviously not think about work any more and be coherent.
So it’s fall.











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