Tipping Point

All these bills coming due, the end of the year: vehicle insurance, land taxes, added expenses. I'm OK, but I marvel at the way money moves in and out. I need aggressive tires, special shocks, a kick in the ass; but I have to say, I am on the ridge and I can afford new tires. I'm wearing Linda's hat, and the fingerless gloves, a bathrobe over all my other clothes. Your free radical is never really free. Not unlike that first kiss of dawn, a lightening in the east. I'm comfortable with this, almost freezing to death.The big put-in for the hospital Xmas party, Jennifer (who does nothing but coordinate events for the hospital) buzzing around all day. I've known her for years. The house was much warmer when I got home today. I heated it up last night and put on a large night time log, the stove was still warm this morning. Warmer, in spite of the fact that it was colder today; the temperature approaching zero tonight. I have an un-split Osage Orange round for last log. As always, the walk up the driveway gets easier in repetition. I'll be in good shape again by the end of February. When these damn parties are over I'm going to spend about 18 hours in a motel room and take three or four showers and baths and slather myself with udder balm. I need to grow a new outer layer, the largest organ. I sharpened the chain on my electric saw, so I should be able to cut up all the miscellaneous branches I've hauled into the woodshed on Monday afternoon. I have to be at the museum Monday morning (billable hours) for the hospital crew to come and get their tables and party supplies, and I need to touch base with the alcohol providers to come and get left-overs. I get the opened bottles of wine, because they obviously can't take them back, and I have my own little event which I refer to as "The Post-Hospital Party". They serve decent wine. I even bring the whites home, for de-glazing pans or adding to the sauce, because I hate wasting anything, especially wine. Fox tracks in the snow. Walking in tonight, head down, it's hard to know when to look up or down, I noticed the tracks. My fox, for sure, because she's lost the nail on her front right middle finger, and I can follow her, pick her out of a crowd.. She came up the bank from the hollow and walked on the edge for maybe fifty feet, then tracked back down, into the hollow. I wonder what she smelled.