to be appalled

A younger version of me was extremely opinionated and fought the good fight at every conceivable moment. The newer version of me is still annoyingly opinionated but my days of expressing them are done. Perhaps it is the exhaustion of the political situation with our neighbours to the south or maybe just a lack of available happy pills or self preservation but my days of arguing are over. I unfollow, even good friends, if I disagree with the (covid) opinions they espouse. I leave the room if some guy is spewing crap about woman’s stuff he knows nothing of. I am done. I just want to garden and drink wine and visit with my family for all of my remaining days. Is there a t-shirt for this?

The bunny was in the garden again this morning. He had eaten two of my cayenne pepper plants overnight with no visual signs of remorse. If he did have regrets they were indiscernible on the camera in his ear to ear grin. E installed the new one-inch chicken wire this morning and we have reset the camera. We still have suspicions that Peter (rabbit) is actually living in the garden or has an underground route through the rockery. Tonight, the camera is on the gate to see if he is entering underneath it. There is very little space under the gate and I would be surprised if that is his route, but we need to explore all of his options.

The temperatures outside are high again. When it gets to 30 degrees in our living room, I plunk my sweet Fanny Mae down in front of the fan and move seldom. Dinner was taco chips ’cause I was not going to leave my comfortable sit me down for any longer than it took to open a bottle of salsa. Don’t judge me. It is hot and I am on my union mandated days off between guests.

Is it wrong that I long for cool September days, splitting wood and burning debris on the burn pile. I am not a big fan of hot temperatures. Although I looked forward to the garden this summer it never occurred to me at the time that it would be a summer of drought and that the sight of dying shrubs would overwhelm my visits to the garden.

We spend our evenings in front of our respective fans watching the Olympics. We have always loved watching the Olympics. For me, it is because I identify so completely with the competitors. If it wasn’t for a complete lack of physical ability I would very likely, in my youth, have been repeatedly standing on the podium collecting medals for soccer or tennis. In my next life I suspect you will see the newer more fit me holding the cup at Wimbledon.

All of my siblings retired to a spot on the water. My brother is on a lake and my sister is on a remote island on the Bay of Fundy. She apparently has the energy to continue to fight the good fight. I have to feel sorry for anyone who is in her way because, to put it mildly, she is formidable. Her current cause is the overwhelming crap which the fish farms have dumped in their idyllic local cove, prohibiting any return of the native fish. I am fairly certain this kind of environmental abuse would never easily happen on the west coast and my sister has decided to bring her west coast environmental protectionist voice to her new east coast home. Give this a read and feel free

to be appalled.

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