these days of leiderhosen

I had a flat tire right there, across the street from my parents' house. There could be no better place for that particular situation.  If anyone had been standing in the dining room, they could have watched and filmed everything. Dad and I changed that tire.  He even gifted me his X-lug wrench as there was none in the car’s trunk and after trying out his, I was sold. In display the rare case of competency, speed and style in the changing of tires and he, heroically, lay down in the street and  handled the jack and I managed the flat, the new tire and the lug nuts. When we reversed into the drive outside his well-stocked garage  (not everyone grew up with a full size air compressor?), he checked all the tire pressures, reloaded the trunk and customized the lug wrench with a bit of paint. After that fascinating interlude, we went to the library. Early in the day, I threw together a free-form meatloaf. He was impressed. It was the first entree I’ve made in three months. We

I'm deforesting my own treeline. Letters of great length are being writing that will never be sent. They pile up into a flammable heap in the corner of the dining room. Produced but unedited, unrevised and unread. Already a huge stack has been condemned to the recycle can and I'm sure to produce even more useless material. There is no Beloved any longer and I am trying my best to square with that.