Thursday, July 16, 2015

July, Day 9


My writing life has many ups and downs.  One of the reasons for this is that I have three autoimmune diseases.  Now the up side to this is that I was fortunate to receive a disability from them and no longer have to work a fulltime job.  The down side is that I can go for days with no energy.  Yesterday and this morning have been especially bad.  I am constantly debating on how to spend the energy that I have.  Today I would love to write, clean the garage, paint, mow the lawn, organize my pictures taken in the last two months, and work in the gardens all before going to a baseball game with the family.  I will write because I am determined to have a good writing month.  I may work with the pictures and move an item or two in the garage.  I might pull a weed or two.  Other than that, I will rest for the ball game.  Luckily yesterday I wrote this post.  I think I will go rest and then write.  Wish me luck.


Argora and Vilenok

The buzzing of the flat stone sitting on her nightstand woke Argora from a fitful sleep.  Most of the night, she tossed and turned, playing through the previous nights conversation she had with her niece about Argora’s old-fashioned beliefs.  She reached over to reset the time piece to give her another hour of rest.  Curling up in a ball, sleep eluded her.  All the tasks of the day ran through her mind.  With a grumble, she tossed the blankets off. 

Stumbling through the little cottage, she entered her kitchen.  Sunlight poured through the windows.  She almost wished to have Vilenok’s dreary room instead of her sunny room.  Opening the cupboard, she gazed at the contents.  A variety of teas in different jars lined the bottom shelf, but on the side stood the jar of coffee granules.  She smiled wickedly.  Her mood felt orcish: cranky with a dab of orneriness.  Images of saying what she really thought about her niece’s plans to move across the sea brought a smile to her lips.  Argora was tired of playing by all the new rules the next generation kept flinging in her face.  The family meant nothing to these young people.  She didn’t want to be nice anymore.  Grabbing the coffee and slamming the container on the counter, she prepared the hot beverage.

Once the water began boiling, she poured it over the top of the grounds.  She placed the coffee press on a tray, along with the cream and sugar.  The backdoor opened with a squeak.  Argora grimaced, one more thing to get to on her list.  At the gazebo, she tried to relax.  The birds’ songs greeted her, but she took no pleasure in the music. 

Grumpiness was not a natural state of being for her.  She hated being in bad moods.  Fixing her coffee, she took cup in hand and meandered through the flowers.  She plucked a weed from the beets.  Setting the cup down, she began thinning the radishes.  She tried to think of other things; however, her sister crying about her daughter leaving on a ship in a month’s time broke Argora’s heart.  She didn’t know what she would do if her children wanted to break up the nucleus of her family.  Her daughter lived two doors down and her son lived in the next village.  They spent time together each full moon.  Poor Merana wouldn’t see Rugra in years.  Such a shame.

Argora stretched across the row of vegetables to pick up the coffee.  A shiver ran through her as the bitterness caressed her tongue.  Progress, all the changes were called progress.  At least coffee was a good step.  Pouting about the changes wasn’t going to get her tasks for the day done.  Standing up, she heard the popping of her old knees protesting.  She brushed off her clothes with her empty hand. 

Back in the kitchen, she pulled from her pantry all the supplies she needed to bake corn muffins for the evening meal.  Noticing the cream still sitting on the counter, she left it and added eggs and butter to the supplies.  She began humming a little tune, letting her feet skip along as she crossed the kitchen to get her big mixing bowl.  Her children loved her baking.  She would make a double batch to take half to Thorthira, her daughter.  On her way, she would drop some off to Vilenok as well.  The orc probably had never tasted a muffin.  Since she liked the carrot cake, she may just like muffins as well.

An idea struck Argora.  An orc’s main diet contained meat.  She would stuff the corn muffin with a mixture of fresh corn from her garden and sausage.  Smiling, she realized she would try to be more accepting of the changes being made.  In her heart, she wished others would be more accepting of her still loving the old ways.

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