Uncommon Sense

 Common sense and I hardly ever crossed paths. Although both sides of my brain do work pretty darn well, there are some things I just don’t get easily. In fact I often just improvise a la Lucille Ball to get results causing great hilarity in those around me. Thankfully I’m quite often alone, with my thoughts and my animals penetrating my inner dialogue. I’m happiest that way, unaffected by the facts of any given situation. Because I’m artistic my improvisations are quite regularly attractive, but still they usually don’t work the way I envision they will. I get impatient reading directions for instance so I skip them and start using a device or product in my own warped way. That usually works well enough until John sees what I’m doing and laughs or instructs me in the proper usage of whatever it is. But I usually persist with my invention until even I notice that I don’t get the right results using it that way.

But he’s so methodical about everything he does, one thing at a time. While I fluff around in bigger and bigger circles, he still focuses on one thing at a time. It’s a startling concept for me, and one I don’t usually practice.  It’s so uber logical it goes against my more effusive grain.

I prefer to complicate things a little. That makes my life more interesting for sure.

I’ve also never been accused of being normal, or like other people. So doing stuff differently than most fits me better than trying to adapt a more clinical approach. This is most apparent in the way I feed my animals. I prepare their meals. I don’t just mix some dry crap together and throw it on the ground. John does the throwing around here anyway. I’m their mother chef and I put their dietary needs first with a combination of people scraps and bones to enhance their miserable lives just pecking in the dirt and eating my flowers.

We are an eccentric couple of old fogeys now with strange patterns of behavior that seem to get stranger every year in our relative isolation from civilization. But that works for us. Quite well I might add. Mostly.

The photos shown here reflect our weirdly magnificent world. Our neighbor’s horses were photographed the other day when we picked some of her bird pecked apples. Two heads seem to be better than one, just like John and me. We walked up on the ridge today so I could pick some more yarrow for the house. John made it to the end of the paddock while I dilly-dallied with the flowers. I believe the moral here is that at our ages we don’t care as much how the other does something, just as long as it gets done while we’re still alive and kicking. His way or my way, either seems to work in the end.