Tabula rasa

Tabula rasa before me, which makes me a tabulator, kind of scary isn't it? Ok, start Susan, any old place will do. This is a very slow process because I have a very good vocabulary, though hampered by spelling, grammer, and typeing skills. Why do it at all I ask myself? Because of the pure joy of learning is my answer. If I confine my judgement of myself, only to myself, I'm a winner, an exceptional student of life and learning. What's the saying, "How others judge is none-of-my-business". Just to lookup where that peroid goes, inside or outside can takeup so much time. A part of me says, I've got a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right so go on, you will learn it sooner or later.
Stream of conscious writing is the mode of this day.
This morning was cold, gray and rainy. I built a fire knowing full well it was an extravagant thing to do. When all is frozen outside, and like a ghost attempts to come inside, I'll be hanging anything and everything over the doors and windows trying to keep the cold out.
Last week, I gave my neighbor one of the hundred dollar bills I received for taking care of Miss Kitty before she died. Should have written the man's name on the wall, and not on a small piece of paper which was probably used to start the fire this morning. He (my neighbor) seems to be a quiet and kind person, and I know he delivered much more than a cord of good wood. I trust him for some reason and joked that by next spring, maybe I would know the difference... Most people around here seem to burn five to six cords of wood through the winter, which means, I'm four to five short.
All afternoon I stacked wood, did my best to copy all the wood-piles I've seen. It felt good to see it neatly stacked, three rows waist high...I think he gave me a cord and a half.
I want to be angry with whoever, or whomever took my gloves out of the truck, but the stacking didn't kill me. A few splinters is just a few splinters, having the gloves would have made it easer on my hands. Another pair of gloves will come my way; I paid sixteen or seventeen dollors for those gloves, no wonder someone stole them. Here most people live at the bottom of the barrel you might say. I stacked wood without gloves to protect my hands but, I went to sleep at peace with myself knowing I'm not a theft...that's a blessing. Which hurts the worse, a splinter in the hand, or a splinter in the heart?
I'm going to make a sauce with the tomatos and onions that Yarrow gave to me, and I'll use the garlic that Jo gave me. Just that, and the kind words from a gentleman in a faraway country makes for me, a good day.
Blessings from a shack-a-doodle in the boondocks.