I’ve become entirely too successful in creating an editing business. I am, currently, editing a manuscript of some 300+ pages. It’s taking a lot of focus.
The Coronavirus still rages in Kansas City. I still go not much farther than the backyard to feed the wild critters who love our safe yard. Baby cardinals have discovered the joy of feeding themselves rather than waiting for parents. As with most teenagers, they eat a lot. The squirrels, whom most homeowners disparage and want to get rid of, are a daily delight as they chase each other around the yard. We have baby squirrels, too. And one small family of rabbits who only venture into the yard when no one is about.
What an astonishing world we are living in. Politics are nuts. No one can agree on anything. Mask requirements come and go (I ALWAYS wear a mask when leaving the house as does my husband and son) and our 90+ year old friends celebrated their 75th wedding anniversary. Seventy-five years of marriage! That’s quite an accomplishment. We went to visit for a bit yesterday, wearing masks. They were also wearing masks, at home, as were all their adult kids.
Wasn’t there a masked ball popular in the Middle Ages during another pandemic? The Black Death? I’ve not found anyone dancing around here, but then, I don’t go anywhere, so how would I know?
I watch squirrels and birds and type. One of my memoirs is at the publisher’s. She expects to have it out sometime early 2021. I’ve not had a lot of time for my second memoir in the midst of editing others’ memoirs.
One of the things I have managed to accomplish is to turn over the farm business to my son, Stephen. Not that there’s a lot there to do. Well, that’s not exactly right. I went up to the farm with Stephen a few weeks ago. He had a John Deere riding mower shipped to our farm, which lies six miles from the nearest small town, nine miles from a paved road, a quarter mile from Mission Creek, and a half mile from the Ks/Neb State Line. We also cleaned out Dad’s shop/garage. Now. That was a chore. It hadn’t been cleaned in decades, even since before Dad died, and that was already decades ago. So you can only imagine. Well, imagine rat holes and mud-dobber nests and old and caked oil. But maybe you’d rather not.
Stephen reinforced the garage doors and put heavy duty hasps and locks on it so he could store the mower inside. Dad always bought John Deere equipment. Now another green machine is up on the farm.
Perhaps I’ve written about this before, and if I have, bear with me: The farm is an 1800s land grant farm – a quarter mile wide, and a mile east to west, planted to tallgrass prairie. It’s beautiful, and birds, butterflies, rabbits, and the occasional rattlesnake love it. It was homesteaded by Grandpa Albert’s grandfather so it’s been in the family a long time.
And sky. Forever the sky.