Too Much

Just when I'd settled in Rodney called and wanted to come over, split and haul wood. I couldn't say no, even though I wanted to, but this is another $100 contract and I wanted wood in the shed. So he came over, with his cousin, and they split and stacked a load before dark, then had to come in for a drink. I feel over-integrated, too much connection; Rodney doesn't have reverse in his small truck, so we have to push it back, so he can get out, it's all too much activity for me on a Sunday evening. They finally leave and I make sure the cousin is driving. The silence was deafening. Like being buried in cotton bolls. There is, by god, wood in the shed; and the fourth thing, I remembered, was getting a new used refrigerator. The old one is nearly dead, labors to keep butter solid, but I'm on this now, because everything else has been addressed. The larder is good, wood in the shed, the brush is cleared away, I could hole up for three or four weeks if needed. Reread Proust. I'm now mildly optimistic about the winter ahead. I'm in better shape than I've been for several years, not physically (I've gone to hell in a hand basket), but the floor is insulated, and I have plenty of food, I can make cornbread with powdered milk. I need at least to partially clean out the downstairs studio room, it has a work counter and I need to bind some books this winter. I seem to be holding a fortune in unbound books and need to spend some time sorting them. A good winter project. Also need a new printer because I love hard copy. I still burn an oil lamp and a candle when the power is out, to be able to find my way around, but I always read with the headlamp, because the light is better and it's cheaper. The battery is expensive, four bucks, but it lasts a very long time. Mid-winter, if the power fails, I go to bed when it gets dark, and get up when it gets light; I'll stay up for a couple of hours, reading by headlamp, if something interests me, but usually I just go to sleep. It's raining again.