July 15, 2022

 During our early spring biweekly hike into the Albuquerque foothills, Susan asks me, "What do you do while you're in Weld?"  I don't know. I can't seem to remember or identify what I do.  So July 15, I decided to record the day's events.

The alarm in the morning is the sunlight and the glow on the trees across the lake, which I can see from my bed.  The light begins at about 4:00 am; I wait until 6:30 to begin to get ready to swim. Paul and I are in the lake at 7 am and swim to the rocks in the center of the lake to look for Missed-ery rock or even the pod rocks; we return by 8:30.  We are chilled but there's enough hot water in the heater for both of us.  I make coffee and my dad's breakfast, and suddenly it's 9:30. Paul starts work.  He'll be home and will make sure my dad's ok and has lunch.  I sweep because there's always pine needles and sand on the floor.  I decide that today is the day to get the paint so I can paint the stairs on the deck of the cabin.  So I load up the car with whatever empty water bottles I have (if I go to town, I'll go by the spring) and I load up the bags for shopping because if I'm going into town, I'll refill the milk supply and whatever else is on the master list or whatever food I can get for us.  I let my dad know where I'm going and when I'll be back.  2:00 pm, I estimate. 

I arrive at the paint store at about 11.  "Hi, Jean, Good to see you again."  Then I have to ask, "How's John?  Your wife? ...." and about 30 minutes later, I'm asked what I need. I describe it, then the staff of six behind the counter has some kind of consultation to determine if that would be best for my project.  Someone volunteers to talk me out of what I thought I wanted and into what I really need.  Then I hear a story about how someone used the wrong stuff and .. you know what happened?  Then the story is paused and a woman runs in, a little frantic.  Everyone stops and looks at her, she's breathless. She had just purchased paint, and she's describing how the whole gallon of $58 paint slipped from her hands in the parking lot just after she bought it, and the staff starts pulling out bills from their wallets and putting the money on the counter. Only one staff member is smiling, and he's not pulling money out of his wallet.  One of the six then explains to me they had just re-surfaced the parking lot and the staff members placed bets about how soon it would be before someone dropped paint on the new tarmac. The woman is grinning, kind of weirdly....Then just as the bets look like they are getting settled, the woman says, "WAIT," She just wanted to tell them that the lid was put on so well that the paint did not spill. Everyone laughs, "Good One, Marge!" (she clearly knows about the bet.)  So all the bills are returned and the former winner grumbles.  Eventually the person who volunteered to help me gets back with me, "Now where were we..."  About 30 minutes later I leave the store.  

I see there's a flower shop on the way home, and I decide to purchase some perennials for the new retaining wall we had built.  I wander around the outdoor tent and don't see a staff member to help me, but I do see Nancy Stowell and discuss our WOW ("Women of Weld") meetings.  Eventually, I land on the perennials.  Eventually, I make my choices and go to pay, but can't find a staff member.  "Hello?" I say loudly but politely. I contemplate loading up my choices.  I can't find a staff member to make the purchase.  I wait, looking for an open box with a "pay here" sign (often these are filled with cash from previous customers' purchases.)  I don't see the open box, so I look at other plants around the lots, debating leaving without my flowers.   Eventually a tattooed lady in a sundress comes out smiling.  "What did you want, Sweetie? "  I tell her what's in my cart, now at least 50 yards away, she doesn't even look but adds up my order.  Trusting.  I pay, then head out with one can paint and some perennials.  It's 2 pm.  

On my way out of Farmington headed to Weld, there's a Walmart on the right.  I stop because Walmart is the least expensive place in town. I need flour to make bread and, of course, milk.  I find the isle (easy, all Walmarts are the same), but there's no flour today. Supply issues (this is rural America).  No bread either. There's rice, though, so I get a bag.  I think I want soy sauce.  I look in condiments. Not there. I continue to look but can't find it. Eventually, I find it beside the breakfast cereals, just to the right of the pop tarts. I get my other items, move through the checker.  I get in the car to drive home and it's 3:00. 

I figure I'll be home just before 4:00, because I'll stop to fill up the water jugs on the way home. I'll also need to get eggs and lettuce from a stand (none at Walmart.) I see a handwritten chalk sign: eggs $3/dozen.  So I stop. I leave the empty egg carton that I keep in my car, pick up a dozen eggs with small chicken feathers sticking to the side of them (sticking with poop, likely, so they will need to be washed before I can use them), Then I curse that I don't have three one-dollar bills in my possession to pay, and the dish that usually has money in it has already been cleaned out for the day, so I can't get change, so I leave a five in the dish beside the stack of eggs. A couple more miles down the road, I see "lettuce" on a sign down the road. I stop and choose a brown bag with dirty lettuce.  Can't get fresher than this. Again, I leave a five, feeling that these people will appreciate the money, and I'll not notice my lighter wallet.   

Around the corner is the pipe sticking out of the ground (literally) from a spring where we get our drinking water.  It's current pace is about two gallons/minute -- by the end of last summer (it was a dry summer), it was a single gallon in five and a half minutes.  I take my five gallon jugs and squat beside the pipe, letting the water trickle into the jug.  A full five gallon container is too heavy for me, so I only fill it to about half to two-thirds full.  It's about ten miles from our house.  I realize I estimated to my dad that I'd be home by 2:00, but I'm not worried because I know he won't be worried.  I get home at 4:30 or so, maybe 5 pm.  I have a small supply of groceries,  a can of paint, some perennial flowers to plant, eggs, and lettuce. 

I start making dinner, but I need to sweep again because there's more pine needles and sand on the floor. I also see there's a dribble of coffee from the pot across the kitchen floor, across the living room floor and into the porch..  I mop it up.  Dishes from the day are beside the sink; I wash them before I cook dinner. I notice crumbs on the counter and the lunch meats on the kitchen table, warm.  So I start making dinner at 5:30, but my dad asks me to find news for him on the computer.   Internet is slow and I get error statements about "no internet" on my computer, but I know there IS internet, and I wait.  Eventually I get what he wants on the computer screen. Now it's close to 6 pm. 

We eat. After dinner, Paul and I paddleboard into the orange and yellow sunset as the lake shimmers. We are lucky enough to see the Bald Eagle swoop overhead. Dad watches from his reclining seat at the shore and Paul and I share our day activities and enjoy the wildlife and scenery together. When we are back, we'll hand-wash the dishes (no dishwasher...) and eat icecream. 

 Wash day is even better than days like this; I tried choosing Monday as our wash day, but I need the day to be dry and sunny so our clothes and bedding will dry. So wash day is not a regular day of the week. This year is the first year we have a small machine to hook up to the kitchen sink, and that's been a game-changer.  

Trash day -- each Sunday and each Wednesday -- is really something, too.  The woman who runs the "transfer" station (aka the dump where we take our waste -- no pick up in this town) also sells vegetables from her garden. That's been a lifesaver -- fresh veggies without an additional trip somewhere!   My dad loves to go to the transfer station to socialize, but we also sort our refuse and sometimes pay additional fees  (like when we throw out a mattress or a TV.) We also separate things someone might want to place on a trade table.  We chat with the other townspeople who are leaving their refuse and maybe help someone load up a dresser from the trade table.  We join people inspecting the ultimate trade center, where I've found useful items.  A conversation with Judy (the woman who monitors the transfer station) is really important and fun; she's positive, interesting, curious, and thoughtful of others.  Last week, she wanted to talk about a book that I left in the trade section.  She saw me leave it, ran over to pick it up, then started reading it immediately, loved it, and wanted to talk about it.