Taking a shot.......
Updated: Jan 8
I bought a lottery ticket today.
In fact, by the time I'd spent the twenty bucks in my pocket, I'd bought two. Five shots each at one-point-one billion - with a "B" - dollars. I figured why not, it's just me and three hundred million other people with twenty bucks in their pockets hoping for a lucky shot. I took about an equal number of bourbon shots on New Year's Eve, playing one of those silly games you play to pass the time until the ball drops and everybody starts kissing and hugging and toasting to a future none of us knows.
Couple years ago, I took a single shot. A vaccine that could have had almost as great an impact on my life as one of those numbers on my lottery ticket. Hurt like you know what. Made me sick for days. Not quite as sick as the virus but sick enough to know I wasn't taking another one. I had to have it to visit my mom so it was worth it. Been well ever since too although I can't say if it was the virus or the shot that made the biggest difference. Maybe it was just following mom's advice and staying away from people and washing my hands a lot.
My best shot though is the one I take every day at enjoying life. A steaming mug of cappuccino in the darkest hours of the early morning, several minutes brushing dirt and stray bits of hay off the horses as they munch contentedly on buckets of warm grain mash, then a dribble of pellets for the three barn cats who wrap themselves around my ankles and purr their thanks. Later, I drop by the farm shop to see what's going on. Sometimes they're busy planning which acreage to work first or how to get machinery from one field to another. Sometimes there's the clang and rattle of wrenches on bolts, and sometimes nothing but an empty silence hangs over the oil spots on the floor. There's no point in tracking them down, they'll call if they need something. The road gets busy about that time as most of the folks head to work in town, speeding past the farm without a thought about how their breakfast gets from here to that restaurant in town, Watching carefully so as not to pull in front of one of those folks, I head back to the house to cook lunch. There's time to read or write or pay bills until my husband and I enjoy a home-cooked meal and time to make plans for whatever project comes next. After the dishes are done, there's still time for a little more writing (or bill paying) before it's time to visit the horses, feed everybody dinner and settle in for the evening. It's a good life. Slow. Quiet. But good.