Challenged Economies

A question of balance. Rain continued through the night, lovely tapping on the roof this morning allowed me to sleep-in a bit, then read for a couple of hours. Rain stopped and I suited up, hand cut enough starter sticks (I need a lot of these during the week, when I start two fires a day) then quickly chainsawed enough serious wood for maybe two weeks. Split some Slippery Elm pre-cuts. Came inside, stirred up the fire, heated water, take a sponge-bath, standing naked in front of the stove, wash my hair at the kitchen sink. Feeling good about the prospects. Enough mashed potatoes left to make a batch of crab cakes, a nice early dinner, with pinto beans rolled in tortillas, an odd salad of pickled beets and Mandarin Orange segments. Mid-winter, I often find myself putting together a meal that doesn't make any sense; what's on hand, nothing new, I merely need fat and protein. I'm cramping up a bit in my hands and forearms, and that's understandable, given the way I use my body; I stretch them, so as not to become a crab myself, flexing the soreness away. It's an odd slant of light, at the end of an early winter day, no one would call this fall, a mere adumbration of what is to come. In the lowing of our tragedy, there's a constant. Inattention to detail. I'm still confused by this, but I notice something off in the corner, a knit-knat. A small ceramic piece that makes a point. A fetish.