My Super Happy Place

There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that this is where I want to spend as much of my retirement as possible.

Above, the view from my window as I measure out my rug warp. You can hear them mooing from time to time.

The spot has beautiful hilltop views all around. Kate’s house is an idyllic little farmhouse. Kate runs the weaving school. I envy her life.

Got My Mojo Working

Hogback Mountain Brewing

From the department of “Well I Should Hope So,” a perfect day drinking blood-orange gose with the cedar waxwings out back at Hogback Mountain Brewing, then biking the awe-inspiring Bristol-Monkton road, got my mojo working again. The Vermont biking just stones me to my soul. Stones me just like jelly roll.

Today I’m prepping for weaving school – trying to get a head start on what the warp will look like, even though I know they will spell it all out for me when I get there; and refreshing my memory on some of their tips and tricks. Glad I bought the handbook.

Look forward to some gorgeous weaving pix this week!

And the Rumour Spread That I Was Aging Fast

So X has been taking apart the Prius bit by bit, because there is a terrible mouse smell in it. We brought it to the mechanic to see if they could remove the dash and clean the vents, but they told us it wasn’t coming from the vents, so we don’t know what to do. Since in this state it is a total loss and probably a health hazard, I told X he could just rip it apart, take an axe to it if he’d like, and get his frustrations out and maybe solve the problem in the process if we’re lucky.

Today is a stunner of a day – dry, high sixties – and we are going bike&brewing. I’m in the middle of a 2 week vacation. Life’s perfect and yet I’ve had this low level depression. X has too, maybe more than usual. He suggested maybe we should get tested for covid. Then he nixed that idea when I started seriously considering it. I don’t know, the ennui of everything being perfect? The ennui of being 52 and having no more mysteries left to solve? Being old? X says there’s nothing more to look forward to. Just tiny joys. I know that when you get old you have to make sure that you still have goals and things to live for. But nothing you can come up with seems important anymore. Struggling to earn a livelihood and gain a footing in the world, that was important. The sheep & wool fair, I don’t know.

Couldn’t resist that.

Book Corner 2021.38

by Annie Dillard

“My God what a world. There is no accounting for one second of it.”

That sums it up well. I’ve always been curious to read this one, but I also feared it would be dry nature writing. In fact it is rarely dry and is heavy on philosophizing. Dillard seems to walk through the world in a constant state of astonishment. She will notice a bug seeming slightly askew, and drop to the ground and stare at it for 45 minutes. She is in awe, awe at the profligacy of creation. She also gets herself into a state of high dudgeon over: the seeming waste of life represented by the sheer number of individual creatures who live nasty, brutish, short lives with only a few of their species living to propagate; the amount of general suffering that goes on in the natural world; and the teeming masses of creatures who are parasitic, noxious, or just disgusting.

I don’t find interesting everything that she finds interesting. But I do like philosophy. In addition to the sheer wonder Dillard brings to the table, she also holds forth on what it all means relative to our own place in the universe.

“Thomas Merton wrote, ‘There is always a temptation to diddle around in the contemplative life, making itsy-bitsy statues.’ There is always an enormous temptation in all of life to diddle around making itsy-bitsy friends and meals and journeys for itsy-bitsy years on end.”

“I have often noticed that even a few minutes of self-forgetfulness is tremendously invigorating. I wonder if we do not waste most of our energy just by spending every waking minute saying hello to ourselves.”

“Nature is, above all, profligate. Don’t believe them when they tell you how economical and thrifty nature is, whose leaves return to the soil. Wouldn’t it be cheaper to leave them on the tree in the first place?”

“Spend the afternoon. You can’t take it with you.”


The Italians have a saying, I recently learned: “A fat pope follows a thin pope.”

A good sleep night follows a bad sleep night.

A good neck day follows a bad neck day.

A happy day follows an unhappy day.

So if you’re happy, be happy. And if you’re unhappy, be happy, because tomorrow you’ll probably be happy.