Hiding Out

I'm puttering today. I like to putter. I like to be by myself. I like to flit from useless project to useless project all day long. I like simple sentences, too. Even fragments. Because that's all I can think in sometimes. Like today. It's my day off. I'm hiding out from good grammar. Okay, I'm hiding from the world.

Life is complicated these days. People want to make things harder than common sense tells them to. Me? I see solutions (plural) straight out. Sometimes they hit me like a barrage of hailstones. But when anyone asks me, "Doesn't that make sense?" or "Do you see any reason we shouldn't do this?" I've learned the code - she's not asking for my opinion but for my agreement. I heard both questions this week, and they didn't make sense and I saw plenty of reasons not to do them - from my point of view. From the company's point of view, from her family's point of view ... not so much. And so I have learned the fine art of shutting my mouth.

It's not my default position. I am the Bunny With The Big Nose, and I was born to Stick It Everywhere. But I bite my tongue now, so often I could strain plankton through the holes. This means that once in awhile the unsaid answers build to critical mass, so I must either go away for awhile or go Vesuvius all over everybody's ass.

And so I putter. Funny thing is, I get a lot done, but fun stuff. My metal detector told me (in beep language) there are at least three likely spots to find a quantity of deep silver, and about a hundred places that either contain gold or, yes, iron (they read the same to my poor, brainless baby). I marked the silver with big red X's (spray paint) and the others with dots. My yard looks like it has the measles.

I also made reservations for our trip next week. We're going to see more Mark Twain stuff for a couple of days before we go to the conference, and then take our time getting home, too. I marked all the Salvation Armies and Goodwills with X's, too, just for the heck of it.

And I got to watch the Big Lug practically hyperventilate with excitement - he collects pipes, and he just now (as I sit here) deciphered the signature on one he bought. It's from a maker on his A-list, one he didn't think he could ever afford, a Tiffany of pipes. Apparently the seller hadn't recognized the artist, either, for the Big Lug got it at a bargain basement price. I'm glad I was here to see his face when he realized what he'd bought - that smile is my eternal addiction.

I'll fix us a nice dinner, and I'll snuggle with him, and I'll watch some more recorded things from a week I don't remember (because it was so full of work). I'll maybe clean jewelry, or maybe wash the dog, or maybe shave my legs. I don't know. The day is mine to do with as I please. And I choose to let all the words unsaid wash away. I choose to hide out, just for awhile.

That's not a bad thing. Especially if you can do it with your best friend.