People live or die by what she decides.
Sitting on the back porch she recounts the casualties of her last battle.
There was that guy going too slow on the road with all the tractors.
The kid crying as she tried to eat her lunch.
An hour past what she had planned.
The price of beef in the local supermarket.
Dinner ready, he was late, a white flag could not keep the food warm.
She cuts her eyes.
Don't shoot me, I say and hold my hands up.
In other news the Everything Must Go/estate/rummage/rubbish/carportnothefrontyard sale we are going to have is well, how do I say this, kinda, um. huh. eclectic. (a term once used by an artist to describe my decorating style. I took it as a compliment but I don't think she meant it that way. her paintings were very precise)
An antique wardrobe for a little boy, the only antique I ever bought. It was from a mom and pop shop on the state line road. Refinished and stained a shiny dark, nameplates for where we were supposed to put his stuff. It never worked for us. The fact we would put ties on a tie rack labelled as such in the left door makes me laugh now looking back. Seth, Slater's friend, was much more suited for that particular piece of furniture. Pricing, who knows? I gave $575 in single mother installments seventeen years ago. The act of bringing it home was more of the statement we are going to make it so I figure for $200 it is out the door.
Let's see how that works.
Divided by seventeen years.
A nickel and a penny per day.
Goodbye, good buy. It was worth it.
Today, more than yesterday but maybe not as much as tomorrow, I am grateful to know we crossed some perceived battlefield where I thought I had to go to war. Living choose your battles has helped me to understand the cost of a fight.