Bow and Arrow Season.
Good morning from dreary Vermont. This past week I switched my summer tires for winters, and cleaned the three bathrooms and refrigerator at Schoolside. The upstairs is almost hoed out. The house definitely has that abandoned smell and feel to it, but I hope by the time we are officially out, it will look neat and cheerful for the next owner. Outside of one last sweep, I think I’m done there.
Yesterday, after much toil and stress as I tried to follow the formatting style guide for book submissions, I finally sent off my manuscript to Curiosity Quills. I got so worked up that I sent it to the wrong department. Let’s hope Quill Point gets to where it’s supposed to be. I did ask them to acknowledge receipt. I don’t know why I get so muddled following simple online instructions. The same thing happens when I try to use a cell phone. My brain disconnects with my hands, and when my fingers reach for delete, they hit return, or visa versa.
It’s bow and arrow season in Vermont. My cousins and brother-in-law hunt, and I’ve eaten their deer, moose, and bear meat, so I should have nothing to say about this practice. Yet is seems so stacked. They’d say, “Is it better to let deer starve, then?” Of course not: I don’t want anything or anyone to starve. But stalking and shooting? Hunting is one of the many set ups I don’t like about this world. For the record, I suspect I’ll go vegetarian in a few years. My conscience is killing me.
All’s good at Soft Landing. We’ve had a frost, but my outside posies managed to survive. Inside, I’ve started to cook more, making one-pot stews and old-fashioned meatloaf meals. Meat again, but they’re delicious.
Do you have any fundamental values you struggle over? Check back next week for another segment of Finding Home.