Monday, September 14, 2015

20150914.0614

The freelance piece I noted yesterday got done. The client who ordered it accepted it and paid, both for the work and for the book from which I did the work. Another order has yet to come for me, but I am confident that one will, along with its promise of a payout. Until one does, though, I am free to pursue other work--for although I did a fair bit yesterday, and I am pleased with having been thusly productive, there is more to do. There is always more to do, of course, because the work continues. (I have to get that in there somewhere. It seemed a good enough place to put it.)

While I did not fire up the grill yesterday--the Mrs. made spaghetti, with her from-scratch sauce of excellence, and nothing I do on the grill proper is so good as that--I did get the front yard mowed and trimmed. The back, amply shaded and still recovering from plumbing work the owner of Sherwood Cottage had done, did not need it. Pushing the mower and swinging the trimmer (is that the right verb?) in the cool sunlight and gentle breeze was decent exercise, and the yard looks good, so I am happy with the efforts. Indoorsman though I am, I am happy to know that I can still do a few things under the open sky, and do them well.

As I type now, Ms. 8 is in my lap, watching intently as words form, deform, and reform on the screen (not everything I type remains in place--which is a strange thought, given some of what gets to stick around), pixels forming characters in response to the clicking and pressing of fingers on little plastic buttons. I wonder what it is that she sees in them; I wonder what she thinks, having few words and no letters, so far as I can tell. She nestles against me comfortably, so I am sure she is at ease, and I am gratified that I can put her at ease, but I do wonder what it is my daughter thinks of me. I am sure that every parent does at some point--before the kids say it. What Ms. 8 will say when she finally does tell me what she thinks of me, I am unsure. I worry about it.

I do what I can to make it a good thing. She will not be able to say with honesty that I did not work long and much to provide for her and her mother. (That does not mean she will not say it.) My earlier conceit against letting people see me work has long since fallen away, particularly for those who live with me at Sherwood Cottage or who stay for more than a few hours at a time; I am seen at work more often and for more hours than I am not. That will doubtlessly cause a problem in time to come, but if it does and when, it will do so for people with full stomachs, clothed backs, and a roof above, and if there is to be a problem, it is better to have one in such circumstances than other.

No comments:

Post a Comment