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Early Tuesday morning I slid from bed and trudged into the kitchen. Taking care of a few things there, I was aware that my eyes felt strange, so I moved down the hall and peered into the bathroom mirror. My top eyelids had disappeared and in their place were small, white tufts of flesh. The lines of my face pointed inward and down. I looked like an angry bull.

I splashed cold water on the mess and moved on. For the fifth time in as many days, I made the one-hour drive to my new property. I arrived at 9:30, fatigued but hopeful, expecting to see the same bustle of activity that had been there yesterday.

Yesterday, there was the well guy digging trenches,

connecting white plastic pipes to bring water from the well to the house-to-be,

and then out to the garden areas I’d designated.

There were also the three electrical guys, working hard to make the right connections to bring me power to the building and power to the well.

So, here I am. No hustle and bustle, no guys with electrical wiring or gray conduit pipes, no one with white PVC pipes that will eventually bring water to my kitchen sink, bathroom tub and out back to the garden.

Why am I the only one here?

I decide to savor the quiet, enjoy the fresh morning air, the dew on the ground, and push aside doubts about what is going on. I sip on a drink, have a snack, look at the newspaper I’ve brought from home. On one of the uppermost sprigs of a cedar tree sits a mockingbird. Well, at least I can snap a few pictures on this gorgeous morning. So I run back to my truck and grab my camera. (See the photo at the top of this post.)

That done, my spirits begin to slip under the covers, where I’m wishing my body had stayed back home. What’s happened? I know the guys said they’d be back today.

When in doubt, mow, I always say. So, I put a little gas into the tank of my old mower, push the button for the choke, or the throttle, or whatever that thing is on the front of the mower, and I pull the crank. Okay, this is more like it. Progress. When you mow down the grass, or in this case weeds and wildflowers, you can see what you’ve done. You’ve made tracks and for a type-A type of girl, you can’t see too many tracks.

Finally, it’s midday. Time to give in, go home, where there’s other work to be done. Besides, my body’s aching; my heart is heavy. My two princes—my  electrician and well guy—have left me alone at the altar. It’s one thing for the guy who put in my septic tank not to come back to spread that last mound of dirt. And it’s another thing for Kermit the contractor not to show up on Sunday. (See my previous post.) But Randy and Kevin? What’s up with that?

On the way home, it is a disgruntled bull that gives me a lift, helps to turn my day around. You never know where a little light will shine. Please go here: http://dancetheriver.wordpress.com/2011/10/25/the-moo-and-the-growl/ for my bull story.

Once I drive several miles from my property I am able to get cell phone reception and call my two princes. It’s then I discover the reasons I was the only one to show up this morning.

More next time! I’ll be keeping you posted.

Please also see my writing at http://wrinkledintime.wordpress.com and www.elderwomenmusings.com.

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