Yesterday I made a bed frame, a job I’d been procrastinating about for a while, then shredded branches for compost pile, took a nap.
Today got in a good 4-5 hours working on the book, then off to the hills, for a 2-mile run to mushroom grounds. The mushroom part was half-hearted — not happening right now — but I just wanted to get out and run. It was raining lightly when I started. By the time I got back to my truck after the run (and a few measly chanterelles), it was sheeting. I mean, shee-it! I was soaking. Every fiber of my Maxit tights and top, every pore of my skin, was soaked. I started to climb into the cab, but saw this would soak the truck. What to do but retreat to back of camper shell, take off shoe/socks, rain pounding down — you get to the point where you’ve given up keeping dry. Kind of liberating: I’m wet and I’ll go with it!
Took pee in pounding rain. Seemed like the thing to do. Perfect. Then peeled of tights, shirt and hat, put them in a bucket in back of truck, stood in rain a while, got in cab, dried off, put on clothes, Lesley’s hand-knitted alpaca hat, got heater going. circulation started kicking in, came home.