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The music at my little cabin here on the ridge is playing,
"Somewhere my Love"
as I read this darling little story.
A goodly breeze wafts around these curtains through the window by my computer. Soft gentle fall sunlight is here with me, too. I know soon cold winds will howl at this same place and all light will be blocked out by the styrofoam board placed there for insulation.
Just for today I will think no more of that but will enjoy this time and space with friends who send lovely little tid-bits like this to remind me, we of the country have not the same worries going to the butting into our fellow humans businesses.
There are more important obligations such as seeing to the transplanting of onions to a large inside pot so there will be
green bits for my mortal and pestle to make pesto for the salads. Such a thing as sacking up the wonderful mint for tea that would cost me four dollars a box otherwise is the duty of simple pleasure leaving me the memory of peppermint candy as my grandchildren and I sip the fragrant tea.
Donna
Story:
THE TINY CABIN.
A social worker from a big city in Massachusetts recently transferred to mountains of West Virginia and was on her first tour of her new territory when she came upon the tiniest cabin she had ever seen in her life. Intrigued, she went up and knocked on the door.
"Anybody home?" she asked.
"Yep," came a kid's voice through the door.
"Is your father there," asked the social worker.
"Pa? Nope, he left afore Ma came in," said the kid.
"Well, is your mother there?"
"Ma? Nope, she left just afore I got here,"
"But," protested the social worker, "are you never together as a family?"
"Sure, but not here," said the kid through the door. "This is the outhouse!"
Government workers are so very smart. Aren't you overjoyed that they'll soon be handling all of our financial, educational and medical dilemmas
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