Jabberwock is still not gyring and gimboling in the wabe. His borregrobes are not mimsy. He is bewaring the Two-Faced jubjub bird and shunning the Spelunking fumerious bandersnatch in fits of hissing fury.
Science Diet cat food is deemed a sadistic attempt to poison him, so he spends many brilligs attempting to breech the bag on the "cheap stuff" cat food I fling to the outdoor critters. If I ever need an absolutely evil-sounding menacing growl for something, I'll know who to go to for it.
I did not wash my dishes today-
I had the best of intentions;
Instead, when the water was two inches deep,
I shut it off - drawn by now-unimportant distractions-
By the time I again ventured that way,
My beloved Uncle Russ had died,
The tears in my eyes had dried,
And the water was stone cold.
I did not wash my dishes today.
I may not tomorrow...
(Edited: I'd omitted a line...)
(Sunday edit to match card as sent...)
I heard his laugh as I cleaned my perfectly level stove. In my mind, his wife Joann stood nearby, holding the yard long level as he jockeyed the stove around to reach yet another foot to make the crucial adjustments. I smiled, comforted.
His large hand sets a red delicious apple, fresh from the orchard, next to a fork. It is as big around as the fork is long!
He pulls a plump, tree-ripened peach from a woven wooden peck basket, cautioning me to rub or wash the spray off before taking a bite. With a frown, Grandmother does, on her apron, then returns it. I dribble juice on my blouse... The next time, I have to stand over the sink to eat one. I am a messy child. Peach juice stains. The flavor is incredible. (I can't tolerate canned, store-bought peaches, and now-a-days, even FRESH store-bought peaches are unsatisfactory.)
He leans out of the cherry picker, tree trimmers in hand.
Earlier: He introduces us to the individual Jersey cows that carry our names. Even though I'm allergic to cattle hair, I avidly pet them and allow, encourage even, them to lick my hand. I love the feel of their tongues.
Later: A cousin teases the youngest: We're eating Louise - she was a poor milker. She's upset and won't eat. The cousin gets upbraided.
Hobbling around on crutches, grinning from ear to ear, after taking a fall during the construction of his house on the original farm property.
Watching him sand cherry wood boards for a special place in his house, even though I am allergic to sawdust, too.
Driving the old gray Ford tractor over a poisonous snake (whose name escapes me at present) stretched clear across the road. The hay rack of people bounce up in the air as each tire bumps over the snake's body. It is NOT flattened, and slithers blithely off.
Warning us of the dangers of meeting mud and snappers while swimming in the pond down by the old original homestead house, which we are forbidden to explore for fear it will cave in on us.
Somewhere, Dad took slides/photos of most of those things, but I have no idea where they are now.