The Quiet Countryside

Every so often some city acquaintance asks me what I do all day. They ask in that tone which indicates they expect to hear that I do nothing much, that they’re sure I’m usually bored, lonely perhaps, and that I wish I lived in a city. Yes, well. I consider the ten days I had a few weeks back and recorded at the time to have been a definite reply to that sort of question.
Friday – (apart from all the usual stuff like farm work and emails which I have every day) hurtle into town with a friend, shop, buy a new washing machine, return to a phone call saying I can’t have the machine I chose, and chose another from its description on the phone. That should arrive in two weeks. Have an idea for a new story and write a few notes, interrupted by two phone calls and a visitor.
Saturday – three phone calls, write the short story, visit neighbors to discuss sharing grazing – and endure a change of lock on the bathroom door with much hammering while comforting Thunder who seems to think he’s being shot at.
Sunday – shop in the village, and return to work for a couple of hours on a precis of my writing career plus list of awards I’ve received, to email to a possible market that wants it, phone an acquaintance for directions to a mutual friend’s grave – and answer a host of odd questions for a survey company rep. who phones me.
Monday – make a phone call about my printer which has gone uncooperative, work all morning on two articles I’m writing for our small local daily newspaper, a neighbour is away so I’m over there caring for her cat in the afternoon, shoot out and rescue a screaming chick that’s got trapped – and cope with its mother who was convinced that I meant her offspring a lot of no good and is in very active defense mode.
Tuesday the nice house manager I have appears and cleans the place, while I zoom to the neighbour’s to look after that cat. More work on the articles, two phone calls, a very late lunch – and…
Wednesday – zoom down to our health center to have my B12 injection and drop more of my lemons into the basketful in their waiting room, which basket I keep filled for those who don’t have a lemon tree – and may have a cold.
Thursday – go to our local school library to discuss some of their plans for library books. Come home and write a short ghost story, and answer the phone – no, I have no spare lambs to sell.
Friday – into town to get a number of photos done onto a flash drive and get that into the post to the publisher. Shop for groceries, visit the library and six other shops and stagger home to Thunder my Ocicat – who is asking where the heck I’ve been and why I was gone so long?
Saturday – tear off to a garage sale at a farm down our road. Come home with four books, three hooks for hanging things up on, two cat ornaments and a shovel, and write my third recent story, the first’s been sold.
Sunday – complete the articles and email them to the newspaper.
So in the past ten days apart from doing usual farm work and emailing, I’ve had/made 12 phone calls, seen 3 visitors, made 2 trips into town, written three short stories (sold all three now) and two articles, (ditto) sorted out my CV, cared for a friend’s cat, enjoyed a garage sale, discussed local school’s library books with the school principal and librarian, bought a new washing machine, had my printer fixed, rescued livestock, and picked and given lemons to a good cause. Bored? Lonely? Wish I lived in a city? Yeah, right!