I’ve got dough rising for six loaves of honey-oatmeal-wholewheat bread. I’m working on an article for work, mindlessly finding numbers for links within the text and tweaking the author’s words here and there. The dog’s been fed but I need to go out and fill up the cats; two of the kittens are sneezing and I hate to see that. But they all look fat and healthy and I think they have warm enough places to sleep: a bale house and an insulated wooden cathouse, both inside the tractor shed.
One thing that has not changed since #1 Son was a tiny child 20-some years ago is that every time I walk past him I touch him, usually his head but sometimes the shoulder, or maybe I’ll tickle his ribs for just a second or two. I noticed this once on a video we took when he was less than a year old. When he was at the table and I was busy in the kitchen, walking back and forth past him, I constantly gave him an affectionate caress as I passed by.
In other news:
Sadie and I had a chuckle over a story her dad used to tell, about the time I had to go outside into the winter snow behind the vehicle for a pee and he thought it would be a real joke to turn the car around and shine the headlights on my bare ass. I had forgotten all about this, but his version was that Sadie’s brother, my beau at the time, had seen the steam come out of my ears, looked at his dad, shrugged and said Sorry You Fool, I Can’t Help You Now. I stomped back to the car and tore a nasty strip off the old fella. And probably off Sadie’s brother, too, for letting him do it in the first place.
Yes, this young girl of about 25 did take on her father-in-law. So, mild-mannered thing that I am, don’t rile me up by embarrassing me! Apparently her dad, who never did like me much anyway because, according to Sadie, I was no doormat, got a lot of mileage out of this story over the years.
It still makes me laugh, to think of it. I consider myself such a weak-kneed and retiring chickenshit, and then … Sadie snapped my leg with a dishtowel one day last weekend and I apparently turned and gave her such a look it made her clit shrivel! Too funny. I remember that moment and wasn’t annoyed in the least. But I guess I looked it. Whatever it is about my face, it must be capable of emitting some element of danger. Hee!
I got angry last night and gave Fella a lecture, and he didn’t say a word. Perhaps he was too sick to talk back. Though I must say, if we’re having a spat and I actually get mad, he often backs down. I’ve always assumed that was because he realized he was mistaken and I was speaking the truth. Perhaps it’s only because he was scared shitless!
Pet, am I scary?