pregnant ewes, hungry bears

In the full swing of spring, pregnant ewes, hungry bears chasing pregnant ewes, swaths of pollen on the deck and the last frost date still to happen, every morning the grass is still a bit crunchy and the woodstove gets lit. A new child's bicycle pointed out to us at the thrift store by a woman who's grandfather is german and she wanted to practice her language skills on us when she heard Barabara and I talking deutsch. Felix tested it out in between aisles of bedding. Karen met us at the thrift store, chic in purple and and leggings and only her face tells on her that she's 85, very sharp cheekbones and a bit gaunt. She's globetrotting again, and was impressed with B and my ability to rapidly work our way through racks of clothing, clothes hangers passing in a blur, almost intuitively sensing fibre content, fingers stopping at a linen or organic cotton or rayon item. Hamish is having a panic attack over trying to install a new starter in his workhorse of a truck. I know because he came up the stairs to where I'm sitting in the weak sunshine, told me in a wavering voice, face smeared with black grease. I don't know how to help him, we don't have that closeness anymore, and maybe I never could help him when he's in this state. I suggested a dip in the creek but he just walked away, shouting a curse and wondering why he can't ever catch a break. Felix so helpfully shouted after him that he now needed to do 10 pushups for swearing. Thankfully Hamish didn't respond. I don't know what it will take for him to see his life choices from some distance and see that it's all connected, the perpetually breaking down trucks, chainsaws, computers, the passed deadlines and the thousand unread emails and the lapsed injury insurance, the sliced open hand from reaching under a lawnmower that hadn't stopped moving, the maxed out credit card, the pho in a cup for dinner and ten years of no dental work and the beer cans showing up in the shed again, the hours spent doom scrolling and procrastinating, not renewing his meds, the volatile moods, the victim mode, the lack of intention, oh, also the wee bit about living alone in a travel trailer on someone else's property and being on the point of marital seperation. But then again, when will I unravel the emotional compass that leads me to make decisions which have me living in someone else's unfinished cabin, on someone else's land, in a corner of the world that doesn't speak to me, my clothes in cardboard boxes, not moving forward, my body sending me all the signals of major future dysfunction, not getting any exercise, stuck in a relationship that's floundering in no man's land, financially on the fringes of manageable, dreaming of this future life of mine as if I were 20, not 40, not connecting the dots, not sure how to...life. how to be. I can't believe I don't know. I have no guiding principle. Religion is more and more appealing. Felix is grateful for everything we have. Including the kitchen table. He discovered the concept of god and is very into it. He has a flat foot, internally rotated leg, weak glute and on certain days it totally overwhelms. All the failures and my spasming back. Reminding me to look at all this with perspective. connect the dots.