At 1:00 p.m., I looked around Angel’s Haven — my tiny house — and assessed the matters at hand.

I had letters to open.  E-mails needed to be crafted.  Drying laundry would soon yearn for hangers.  The whirring of the laundry unit signaled the commencement of folding duties.  Clean dishes glared from the drain basket.  A staggering number of inbox items overloaded G-Mail, including notices of jobs for which I could apply, pleadings that demanded attention, and queries awaiting response.

I chucked it all and walked down to G-18 to visit with Pattie Whitaker.

On her pretty porch, with purple flowers and a pink china pig wearing booties, with another neighbor across from me and Pattie to my left, we drank tea, and coffee, and logged into hotspots and chattered about our children.  We relived Jill’s Bingo wins.  They explained the geography of the nearby towns.  Cars went by, with hands waving from the windows, and friendly faces nodding over steering wheels.

Four hours later, I picked my way down the gravel road and back to G-8, completely unconcerned about the choice I had made to let the chores wait for evening.  When one can spend one’s days in the company of the likes of Pattie Whitaker, one does not let the opportunity go unheeded.  Her eyes sparkle; and her smile dazzles; and her smooth silver hair peaks from behind her earrings.  She’s a great gal, is our Miss Pattie, and I am ever so lucky that she invited me to visit today.  Some days slip away unnoticed; others belong on the keeping shelf.   Like today.

It’s the ninth day of the fifty-first month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

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