There are two blueberry seasons in oregon I am told. All summer then again in October. Which is good because in the summer I reveled in the berries promising to put some aside  but being the grasshopper or is it the ant who saved things? But I was the consumer not the stocker and so this winter I will  not have the cache of blueberries I imagined, So many people warn me about the winter months. Firewood is being delivered to day and my fireplaces are cleaned and ready for heating. And luckily the south facing abundant windows and the excessive lighting which by winter I may fully understand may  keep the grayness away. The studio has no heat despite a remnant thermostat on the wall and the cadet heater in the bathroom doesn’t appear to be working, a thing that may bother jim more than me. I am already sleeping in socks with abi on my feet for extra warmth.

Her lip is less swollen but not entirely cured and I am not sure that I can endure her reaction to more cortisone. But back to berries. Or winter or the concept of preparing for the future. Something I did far too much in Alabama but want to abandon here. And I mean that in a good way, so much psychic time was spent anticipating the future and who would react and how things would look that I seldom stayed in the moment … unless depressed which is a very intense in the moment state. But here it is much more a day at a time thing, in the best of ways. Singing one moment, engaged in a chore the next. Jim said something about ”if” we had to move to assisted living and I thought that’s why we have slogged through  life … to assist the other and I intend to go no where that involved strangers taking me to the bathroom or feeding me soft foods. Even it is IS mashed berries. So buying firewood and hiring a closet designer is as much future planning as I can handle and once I get over the anger and frustration of losing 13 years of my life to the hell called Dixie, maybe I can move forward. Internally I am the eternal jack benny… 39. But I digress. Berries winter jim snuggles abi’s health, intro to Buddhism and PCC pink walls and how to ship swags and jabots because people are too cloddish to understand that one can never argue in a pink room. And wishing it would get REALLY rainy soon because then neill  will come indoors and finish my cabinets. Okay I am not in the moment.  I still have a subconscious and early woody allen movies  are for the young, except for the cross dressing scene with Lou Jacobi and the sheep eyes of a constrained gene wilder.  Al Pacino on the actors studio was very busy acting, such a disappointment. Will someone be the devil’s advocate and help me out here? I am dying.