December 10-11; 2020: Journal

Late on Wednesday afternoon, a pale sun sent a wash of color over a landscape that had remained resolutely grey and cold since the first of the week. 

Thursday morning brought a sunrise of saffron and ocher streaking the sky; as the sun climbed, a welcome warmth replaced the damp chill of previous days. 

[I have two cameras of the same model, one records the date, the other refuses to do so.  Both, regrettably, have scratches on the lens.]

Jim announced an early errand in town on Thursday--I decided to go along.

Howard had alerted J. to a handsome large toolbox on offer at a discount/salvage store where we like to rummage.  The venue is a metal building, apparently unheated, and after a desultory look around I went out to sit in the truck with a magazine.  J. completed his purchases, came out to move the truck to the loading dock.  

The truck decided not to start. 

J. is a more optimistic soul than I am, so while I sat warning myself not to make comments, J. poked at various things under the hood, tunked at something near the fuel tank, ground away at the starter. 

After half an hour of this, he conceded that the truck [a fairly recent acquisition] really wasn't going to miraculously fire up.

J. has for several years had a primitive 'flip phone' which he sometimes remembers to carry in the truck. The provider regularly 'shuts off' the phone before the prepaid hours have been used.

This happened again last week.

I raised my face from the magazine I was resolutely perusing, and handed J. a piece of paper with Howard's phone number there-on. 

J. eventually conceded the necessity of calling Howard to the rescue and stomped back into the sales barn where one of the proprietors kindly put in a call. 

I felt dismayed to call Howard from his work on the house he and Dawn are renovating, but there seemed no other option.

Howard must have been 'hammer-down' all the way from Dry Creek, as he roared in within the half hour.

 Now two heads under the hood of the truck, more poking, prodding, diagnosing [of course the two men didn't quite agree!] and the truck still refused to start.

Howard produced a tow chain, tugged the truck around to where it could be pulled forward, where-upon the engine came to noisy life.

Finally home to a hastily cobbled meal--was it lunch? a very late breakfast?--and the men off to more work at the Dry Creek property.

I felt mildly out of sorts, unable to settle. 

It was a good afternoon to putter aimlessly outside, enjoying the return to pleasant weather.

Friday has been a day of beautiful weather.

Temperatures climbed to nearly 70F.

In between household chores I've made excuses to be outside: sauntering up the lane mid-morning to put outgoing mail in the box, a quick drive to the Beachy's  for apples, fresh eggs, grapefruit.

Back outdoors with the camera, fascinated by the seed heads of Duchess of Edinburgh clematis.

The dried leaves of Duchess and Candida rattle against the trellis.

Robert frequently appears to be companionable.

Robert is a proper pain about coming in at night.

He can be omni-present, appearing at my elbow, sociable, wanting to be noticed.

He comes inside, naps on a bed by the hour, but if he can escape the house late in the afternoon there is a nightly battle to retrieve him!

I stand on the front steps, call his name in beguiling tones.  He may appear, prance about, roll on the ground, only to dash off when I reach for him.

I've been out several times this evening, trolling about, flashlight in hand, calling him.

The two old 'barn cats' Willis and Sally, loyally follow me across the meadow, down the lane toward the shed. Their eyes gleam like bobbing headlamps when I sweep the light behind or to the side.

It appears to be one of the nights that Robert will spend--somewhere--outside.

He will be sitting on the porch bench at first light, swaggering in, demanding a dish of milk, needing to have burrs combed out of his long fur before he saunters off to crash into bed.

Robert's brother, Nellie, is even more companionable, a most amiable creature, and rather more inclined to respond when he is called.

Late afternoon and the sky tracked with more contrails, evaporating against the blue.

A viola, revived since the cold earlier in the week.

Inside at dusk to slice Rome apples into a kettle where they simmered into a ruby-red applesauce.

The woodfire, allowed to go out this morning, has been built up against the chill that will arrive in the wee hours.

Shelby-kitten has disturbed everything on my desk, nibbled at various papers, and is now engrossed in stalking an Asian ladybug along the top of the divider behind the desk.

The warm day has revived the wretched things!

Somehow it is nearly 11 p.m. and the rest of the household settled for the night.

One last look outside for Robert, then Shelby and I will go to bed.