Wouldn't this be boring? Piles of logs. Pile after pile after pile. Seven sorts right now. A flat tire today on this new machine. The second one in as many weeks. Odd. So he isn't bored. But I would be. I can't see the sorts like he can. He keeps a measuring device in the cab and hands himself the end of the log swinging in the bucket right up to where he can reach it through the door. I think it is a bolt question. Is that ten inches?
Please try to not notice those misplaced prepositions and lost verbs, ok? I vote we make a new grammar rule that says we may write in peace with, and stop having to add in the "in which's" and "with which's" just to be correct.)
His world and my world seem too far apart and lonely sometimes in the summer. The saving grace is that we share one goal and one set of bills and one bed and one house and one Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. So, whereas he spends many hours a day hauling and sorting those boring logs and I do those same repetitious things of homemaking, the day and the week have endings and beginnings for landing and launching and we share that, too.
We've had arguments about which is most important: the work part of life or the together part of our lives. He would argue that if you don't work and earn money you can't expect to have a place to spend time together period, or pay those mutual bills, for that matter. That's a good point, but I will still say that if you had nobody to look after and no home to live together in, there would be zero point to life at all. I guess we need both to make the world go round.
And since we are still earth bound we need the dignity of industry. I have a few thoughts about that hatching in my mind to scribble about sometime.