This is it. So much for my belief that I had finally found a way to strike a balance in my life. I have simply done what the above title suggests. I guess that balance-related change would have to be very big and very radical.

This morning, the plan was to do a few things and then get the horses out. I did a few things. I did not get the horses out. I pulled the tomato vines down and put them in the compost station. This took a surprisingly long time. I felt despondent when doing this because this truly was the end of their lifespan. It’s cool to see things growing around here, and not so cool to see them die.

I also moved some of my horse gear from the tack room into the greenhouse. It’s at this time of year that this space becomes available.

Pete, Robert, and Marrio

I next spread 10 buckets of gravel in the horse pen. I limited myself to ten buckets because this made the rather onerous task a bit less onerous. I need in such instances to be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s a foregone conclusion that I won’t see the tunnel if I take on too much of a good thing. Har har.

The rain held off until I got these tasks done. At about lunchtime it started to rain. I drove to town, and on the way in it was raining. This, as always, made getting work done in the distribution center much easier because I was able to focus on the task at hand.

It was a Monday like the Mondays that I used to have at the Meeting House. Only Cherokee came by, a good thing because talk consumes time. I sorted books, separating and reboxing fiction and nonfiction books. I knew my system worked when at the day’s end I picked out books in the fiction and nonfiction boxes for distribution.

In the next few days, the remaining books will be sorted, and all the books will be stamped and cleaned and categorized.

Cherokee was the lone visitor. I had given her some books to take a look at, requesting that she give me a synopsis. She was amazingly articulate in giving her report on Surfer Girl – it was a keeper. However, she went off on a tear in giving her overview on the Bible Book of Children’s Stories. Quite clearly, there is a high degree of religiosity on her part.

Cherokee, as if reading my mind, attributed her long windedness on being hit in the head with a baseball bat when she was nine years old. My response was, “yep, that’ll do it.”

I came home and cleaned the pen. Pete had cut down an old, dying birch tree located adjacent to the enclosure, and even put all the wood in the truck.

Men don’t wear aprons. Their lives are in balance.

Next: 278. 10/10/23: Harrumph