The biscuit refuse is still on the counter. I made biscuits for second breakfast among the Hobbit lovers of Bechtel-Bettis last night before bed. Quite literally before bed. I had all sorts of intentions today of cleaning up the flour and biscuit and lard bits stuck to the cutting board.
But we needed to run errands complete with special drinks and take a katy-did, wooly-bear, grey squirrel finding walk. We had good books to read and phonograms to print. Paper to cut and wood stove information to gather. A love seat to pick up (we three home educating readers have out-grown the rocking chair) and hugs and holding and listening to get done.
Chris owns a '71 Ford Torino. It was in West Virginia in a friend's garage since we moved. Chris with help from a brother-in-law moved it here a few weeks ago. The children have washed all they could reach. He has cleaned out the dead mouse. He has plans for his car--long term plans that become longer-term all the time.
Last winter we were cold. This fall we want to treat ourselves to a wood burning stove; we have the corner in the living room picked out. We were talking over stove and stove pipe and flooring and tiling the wall; and Chris was getting discouraged as organizing the garage started looking longer-term.
He works hard, a long way from home. It is a job he appreciates with people he enjoys. He is a good fit, but he spends his days away from the place and people he most loves. I thought I would help by cleaning up the laundry room where he is in the middle of adding a chlorine and fluoride filter and the work room where he will be working to put a stove above it. The rooms were cluttered and it was difficult to walk around in them let alone easily do the work that needed done. I was just finishing when he walked in.
So the biscuit refuse is still on the counter. And everyone here feels loved. I'll take that for a day's work.