Settling?

Am I settling in to the new routine? Still not quite sure what that routine will be, but this Sunday evening finds me feeling like I can handle whatever routine settles in from here. The business end of Houston is not quite settled, but it is mostly paper and digit shuffling from here. I don't much like pompous neighborhoods and I am looking forward to never driving down that pretentious street again. Pompous neighborhoods remind me too much of my mother at her worst. Endless hours of driving through rich neighborhoods, drooling in envious certainty that perfect lives dwelled within the over-decorated walls. I was certain that a winning lottery ticket would simply add a new flavor of money problems to her existing problems. Hubs's brother still lives in Houston, but that is a far more casual demand of time and resource. So far, at least. Who knows what the morrow will bring.

There is an early 20th century windmill about 30 yards from where I sit now in the dining room of the old farmhouse. It is a noisy old bugger, badly in need of an oil can. Crammed between the legs of the windmill sits the dilapidated old well-house. Next to the windmill sit two gigantic galvanized cisterns. Small hackberry trees have gained solid rooting around the conglomerate. It doesn't take much of a hackberry root to sprout a copse that endures with tenacious hunger for life. Getting an oil can to the creaking windmill overhead has looked like a daunting proposition with all that chaos at its feet.

I got quite allot of the organic carnage scraped and lopped away today. A large hackberry cluster in front of the door still prevents me from peeking inside the well house. A hatchet would be my weapon of choice to get those cleared but my hatchet is at the Urban Homestead. I am not sure I want to open that door without back-up, anyway. The hackberry cluster in front of the door indicates that it has been allot of years since that door has been opened. No telling what's inside. Still, it looks a little less scary now.