It hasn’t rained in over two weeks; the fields and, more importantly, the cotton have thoroughly dried out again, which is why my eyes are tired, blurry and burning slightly, and I have an intermittent, maddening and hacking cough. The big green John Deere’s and Cases are out in the fields again industriously stripping cotton, and throwing all that Roundup and Quick Pick laced dirt and plant particles up into the air. I’m staying as indoors and out of it as I can, but it’s hard to escape with our practically constant wind. Since we have cotton fields 360° around us, we get it no matter which way the wind blows. And they’ve started ginning it, too, which puts cotton fibers and more chemical-laced gin trash in the air.
This morning, I tried reading the short stories of Truman Capote (he of Breakfast at Tiffany’s fame). He’s supposed to be such a good wordsmith, and I suppose he is, but I find his subject matter dog-eared, slightly sordid, Tennesee Williams-ish for all the wrong reasons, and generally pretty depressing, all of which gets in the way of my appreciating his wordsmithery. So much for litrachure.
My mom got her new TV, a 50-inch flat screen, delivered, set up and hooked up in her bedroom. It replaces a 19-inch TV she’s had for 20+ years, which was so small, you practically had to have binoculars to see it from the bed. Now when she falls asleep watching TV, she won’t have to get up and go to bed. She’ll already be in bed. Very time and labor saving.
Daylight Savings Time ended last night, and consequently, I had to go around and reset every cotton-picking clock* in the house back an hour. I do wish the powers that be (such as they are) would make up their (alleged) minds once and for all about whether we get to keep that one stupid hour or not. I wasted at least half of it fiddling with the durn clocks!
*except the "atomic clock" my dad gave me years and years ago. All you have to do is push the magic button, and the clock telepathically gets the correct time from the Atomic Clock in Boulder. Talk about a gift that keeps on giving. Money very well spent there. (and my plonging clock that sits on the mantle. I don't like fiddling with the mechanism any).