Cars

Another fellow ran into one of our trees yesterday.  This time, a new ghost hasn't moved in.  I heard a bump and thought one of the branches of our dying ash had fallen until I saw an angel running across the lawn.  She'd been sitting with a dying chicken.  I believe Friendly may have given her life so he might live. The rescue squad tilted the driver's seat and lifted him through the tail door of his SUV.

Some days I want to sell our motor vehicles and start walking everywhere.  Then I might not get up and go without carefully thinking things through.  A trip to town would take all day, with a plan and a map, and a credit card, just in case, for a motel, or I might trade some music-making for a little basement space.  For a moment, I envy New Yorkers and other city folks the convenience of things nearby.

Ride a bicycle?  Maybe, but I don't feel lucky with bikes.  Look at my right shoulder and you'll see what I mean.  Besides, tires go flat.  It seems easier to maintain my pair of feet.

If we moved to town, the neighbors might not like our lawn full of vegetables, the chickens and goats.  The City Council might issue us a summons.  I might have to practice piano with the windows closed.

Oh, I nearly forgot.  Before we moved here, we lived in a city.  A neighbor sometimes mowed our lawn when he thought it was too long.  I read about a cool lawnmower today, human-powered, that reportedly is easier to push than a gasoline mower, for $250.  Maybe if I bought that, I'd mow our lawn instead of watching Karen or Adam, not that anyone's had to this year.  Rain is coming, the next 2 or 3 days.

"Like you'd really get rid of your cars," says Virginia.  "You're a big talker, but when it comes down to it, you're as addicted as the next guy."

I guess that's why I'm shaking.