Tea, Tasks, and Tinkering

“No task is ever completed,
only abandoned or pressed into use.
Tinkering can be a form of prayer.”

— Marge Piercy, “The task never complete”

I am outside in the garden shed with my computer, journal, and teapot, ready to dive into writing, free from the distractions inside the house.

I can hear rain falling onto the roof of the shed. Is is really raining right now or is it only this morning’s droplets, shaking loose from the trees? I’m trying to convince myself it’s the latter because I just spent fifteen minutes hanging a load of freshly washed clothes out on the clothesline.

I suppose that seems like a rather stupid thing to do on an overcast day when it’s been raining all night and morning and could start up again at any minute. Perhaps taking such chances is my way of “living on the edge.”

As I take a sip of my tea, I’m disappointed at its lack of oomph. Even though I like pomegranate green tea, I find that the aroma is often more impressive than the flavor. Besides, it’s damp and chilly outside and I’m terribly tired — good dark coffee would have been a wiser choice.

I am drinking my tea out of a clear glass mug with a painted hunter scene of horses, hounds and riders circling the cup. One of the hunters is blowing a bugle, another is about to lose his hat, and the third is riding a horse who is jumping over a fence.

Now I notice that the riders on my mug have saddles but no stirrups. How perplexing… How is the rider going over the fence managing to stand in the saddle?

Oh damn, the rain is starting in earnest. Hopefully, it will quit again soon. For every degree of dryness my clothes attain, there appears to be a reapplication of twice as much moisture. Is it my imagination or is the unmistakable smell of damp wool wafting through the air?

Another sip of tea, which is barely warm now,  followed by a bite of overripe banana moosh chased with a broken chunk of hard dark chocolate. It doesn’t get better than this. One does need to keep up one’s energy when writing.

The chickens, are softly cooing outside the shed’s window. I don’t know what else to call the sound they’re making. It’s not a cluck but more like a crooning, only with a smoker’s rasp to it. The girls are a ragtag looking group right now and aren’t laying very many eggs. They’ve taken a break to spend their time molting.

My buffs, who usually have a consistent yellow hue to their feathers now look like checkerboards of yellow and cream. The Australorp seems to do all her molting around her neck, with bald spots running in a band like a necklace, only not a particularly attractive necklace. Perhaps she is trying to go Goth.

I should have brought my wireless keyboard out to use with my laptop. The potting shelf I’m using to type on is a too high for the chair I’m sitting on. The angle that’s required for typing is arching my back in a rather painful manner. 
I wonder if putting a blanket under my butt would help? I already have one blanket over my lap to stay warm. The blankets are out here to cover the plants when the temperatures drop at night to protect them from frost. That hasn’t happened yet this Fall, but if the weather fortune tellers are right, the beginning of the end of gardening will start next week.
Oh, good! The blanket on my chair is helping. Now if the back of the chair only came up higher so I could lean back. The chair I’m using is an old stool that used to be in my Mother’s kitchen. At barely five feet tall, my Mom used the stool to reach things on the top shelves in the kitchen cupboards. It’s one of those contraptions that has the steps that can be pulled out from under the seat. The pulling out has become a bit more sticky with years and is accompanied by a rather disturbing screeeeech.  
So, am I warmed up yet and ready to get to some real writing? Actually I’m getting kind of cold out here. It’s starting to get dark out too. Still, I tell myself, this is progress. Right? It’s all about the journey, not the destination, or something like that.
Setting a time and place and showing up — over and over again.

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  1. Ha ,yes have that saying on my wall about life’s journeys 🙂
    Your glasses remind me of years ago (many years ago) when I use to jump bareback ( and place) in local competitions before the rules changed .
    I wasn’t trying to show off (though back then I could ~giggle)
    ~ just couldn’t afford an english saddle at the time !

    1. I used to trail ride with someone who rode bareback over jumps. It looked painful to me, but maybe that’s because I was on a bony horse! I competed once in jumping and had absolutely no control over my horse – we went REALLY fast! I never laughed so hard in my life, but I hate to think if I hadn’t had a saddle!

  2. This was writing indeed, Maery Rose. I feel like I’m there with you, I love your sense of humor and acceptance with the rain and the clothes hanging, love the laundry on the line, the chickens and your vintage looking tea cup. Wish I was close enough to bring a cup of hot coffee for both of us and join you in the garden shed, bringing a blanket for my butt too. What fun! Happy writing.

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