Sunday, March 18
When your ears are blown backwards, that indicates you are experiencing strong wind.
This wind is bitter cold.
Reggie and Roger love to run free around our boondock near Benson, Arizona. They don’t seem to notice the cold wind. I think the wind gives them more energy.
The boys go crazy and I snap a few photos of them and of the landscape (which I’m using to illustrate this post). Then I retreat to the Best Little Trailer to watch the fun through the windows.
After lots of racing and playing, the two happily panting pals are eager for a cool drink and the warmth held inside our home.
We don’t go anywhere in the Perfect Tow Vehicle today.
I’m content to stay cozied up with the pups.
Several years ago I learned a lesson from a dear friend.
(Oh gosh, forgive me if I’ve told you this before.)
Lois was in her eighties the years I knew her, me some forty years younger.
A native of Georgia, her family worked hard to put food on the table. Hands cut during the picking of cotton on long, hot summer days were cleaned up to hold a Bible and to pray in church on Wednesdays and Sundays.
As an octogenarian her body was terribly stooped. Her skin was wrinkled and browned from years of tending the fruit trees and vegetables of her and her husband’s truck farm.
I didn’t know her when she was Lois. By the time we met, the nickname of Granny had replaced it.
People of no relation, other than that born out of affection, called her Granny, too. It fit.
Granny taught me through example how to live one’s days guided by conditions of nature and spirit. I would suggest something and she’d say, no, it’s not the day for that.
I’d look around confused . . . “Huh?”
Another day she’d say, this is the day to do that (what I’d suggested previously), and in hindsight I’d realize her wisdom.
I recall a day of torrential rain.
I appeared on Granny’s porch, hair slapped to my head, wet as a muskrat’s. She greeted me laughing, “A day like this and you’re out riding the roads!”
Of course, she was retired and I wasn’t and it was a Saturday, but, even so, I got her point.
Now that I’m retired and have the freedom to go or stay according to my own choice, I understand better the ways of my friend, Granny.
All that to say . . .
I’ve been enjoying being held at camp by the wind. Of course, if it continues too long, I might get tired of it . . . .
Monday, March 19
Overnight temperatures drop into the high 30s!
I’m up at 4:30. Immediately I turn on the Wave 3 heater and keep it on high. (I crack open a window a little bit and crank the ceiling vent up about a half-inch.) Boiling water for the french press adds heat, too.
It’s 8:30 before the boys creep out from under the covers.
I take them outside on-leash for first potty.
No wind. Oh, and we have neighbors over there . . .
Two young people — I think guys — are folding up their tent and packing gear into their car. Hunched shoulders indicate they’re feeling the bite of cold.
Next Reg and Rog gobble up a breakfast of chicken chunks. Then they beg to go outside.
“I know what you want. You want to run free. Well, you can’t until those people leave.”
I go outside to check.
“Okay, they’re gone. Here ya’ go!”
They burst through the door, oblivious to the cold, running like the wind.
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