I’ve always described as what I miss most from the US is real work. People (including Bridget) look at me strangely when I say this, and I can never adequately explain this feeling. Driving home Sunday, smelling like I was sitting actually in the campfire all weekend, for some reason I thought the sight of my hands, even after being washed twice, demonstrated that real work I've been missing.
And the weekend had other nice knock-on affects. Monday after work, the good times continued as I actually had some work to do (all 5 min of it). Silas very enthusiastically helped out, and Emmet tried not to miss the fun.
Like I wasn’t already itching to get home ASAP.
2 comments:
hmm...maybe it's because I AM doing real work.
oh the sins of the father/and mother--so we imbibed work ethic in with your milk (I was going to say breast milk but then I didn't want to scar my son more than ever -isn't that considerate, supposing he can't read this or that anymore scaring is possible- but I regress---)so doing manual labor is a release for those cerebreal (yes this is where O gets his spelling) job sorts- but O don't wear yourself out - there will be plenty of MN things, houses eat your time--enjoyed the blacksmithing rundown/horsehead hanger and all--now get to making the Feast odds and ends-LOVE ALWAYS --MUM
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