I’m ready to paint the office. Friends who know me well are laughing right about now. Come on. It’s been a year, at least, since I painted anything. I have to get it done quickly now because of my upcoming hernia surgery. And it’s only one wall, though a ten foot tall one. The problem comes after it’s done, when the furniture needs to be moved to its new arrangement. There are two desks that are awkward and heavy, and four book shelves (but without books they aren’t bad).
I went out to the farm and enjoyed beautiful weather, a great hike around my pond, and I managed to get in a few visits with friends. I had a list of things to do while I was there, and got them all done. That doesn’t always happen. The grass looks good after a year with some slow soaking rains and excellent range management. I miss my cows. I can still remember the numbers of particular cows like #465 who had twins every other year, #12 who almost plowed me until I tripped over a snow bank as I was backing up and disappeared from her sight, #11 who could jump any fence, and #23 who had the biggest tits I’ve ever seen on a cow. Funny what stays in your mind.
Hurray to the brave men and women around the world standing up and saying #metoo if they were sexually abused at some time in their life. I was eight, and like so many others, I never told my parents what happened. The numbers are staggering and shed light on a culture we have kept hidden for far too long. For some, the effects last a lifetime. None ever forget – I won’t – and the evidence of that is in the numbers. My hope is that by shedding light on the problem, and it is a huge problem, we can disinfect the mind-set that allowed it in the first place.