Shirley Ingalls Wilder??

Saturday night. The house is clean and sparkly. The Christmas tree is lit. Harv is watching Hockey night in Canada and making the appropriate hockey noises. The ooohhs and yeses that bring me back to my childhood and the days when we kids would be tucked into bed falling asleep to the emphatic declarations of “he scores” from my dad in the family room. Abby is sleeping under the bed. I am sitting down at my keyboard to write. All is right in my little world.

I am really quite easy to please y’know. Well at least today anyways. I think that I would have fit in really well in days of old. Back in the days when life moved a lot slower and things felt simple, and less intense. I could picture myself in a Little House on the Prairie sort of life. A Saturday night, with some logs on the fire and a lantern by my side. I would be in my rocking chair working on my needle work while Harv would be playing some sort of instrument by my side. Or maybe he would be reading out loud. Everything would be peaceful. The hay bed mattress would be restuffed and fluffed and ready for sleeping. The water would be heating by the fire for the weekly bath in the portable tub. The scent of lye soap would be strong in the air. The venison stew would be simmering on the wood stove, with biscuits and apple butter cooling on the table. And then after my needle work was done and the socks had been mended, and all was ready for the Sabbath, I would boot up my computer and check to see if anyone had commented on my blog...