Saturday, August 1, 2009

It's a Date

I find it an intriguing phenomenon that time often changes the meaning of words. Today, Mr. Nature and I had an impromptu date (of sorts). What does the word "date" mean to you? Primping for a few hours with manicure and hair, getting dressed up, wearing a pair of seductive high heels, and stepping out on the town, perhaps. It used to generally mean that for me as well.

However, these days, I take it where it is available. A "date" these days means we have dropped Amilia off with her Papa for a few hours and we have a little time to spare in which we might enjoy some adult conversation. Mr. Nature dislikes that I call this a date because it doesn't fit the classic definition, but if we stuck to rigid constructs, we would not be having dates at all.

So, we stopped by the Grange co-op to buy a hanging poultry feeder and then headed to the book store. We went to Barnes and Noble because the selection of felting and knitting books is much larger than we can find at the LYS (local yarn store). We purchased a couple of extremely discounted clearance books after an enjoyable perusal of the wares.

Our next stop was The Saloon. On a Saturday. A rare occurrence, indeed! It was buzzing with evening ease and shuffleboard players. We soaked in the deep wood of the bar, the solid, cool brick of the walls, and the echo of past ploughmen from the canvas on the wall. I soaked in 3/4 of a pint while Mr. Nature soaked in 2 pints. I am not one to drive directly after drinking, so we then exited the building and took a walk to the town cemetary.

I love to visit old cemetaries and feel the past all gathered together. There was a thunderstorm brewing, so the filtered sunlight shone odd colors around us and the dry leaves were rustled by the occasional gusts. We wandered peacefully for more than an hour, each following our own path of marble carving to a drumbeat of thunder. We strolled hand-in-hand back to the car, and arrived there just as the sky opened up and dropped gallons upon us in huge droplets that pelted the roof and windshield.

We ended by making it home in time to put the chickens away before they were struck, as I was, in the head by 1/2 inch diameter chunks of ice. We had closed them up in the wind and rain, and were turning to cover the garden plants when a jawbreaker sized ball of hail hit my hat and another flew past my face. We then got the message and ran for the shelter of the house. Hail rained down for a full 10 minutes as we stood in wonderment over ice falling from the sky on August 1.

So, it was a date filled with practicality, relaxation, entertainment, refreshment, excitement, and exhiliration. I think that is more than I could ask from a primped together evening of pretentious food and forced enthusiasm.

I hope the garden survived the onslaught of weather!
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