Every so often I think I want chickens. I can have those in my backyard in my neighborhood in Little Rock. Mostly, I think I like the idea of having chickens. It seems kinda quirky. But I don’t want to take care of them or deal with the chicken poop or really anything remotely gross, so I can pout a little when Charlie says no to the chickens. But I don’t really mind all that much. A goat, on the other hand, could be really useful.
Charlie and I were talking later about our friends and their plans. I promised him under no circumstances would I ever ask him to move to a farm. He laughed. He never thought he was in any danger of that.
But I do sometimes think about how it will be when Jackson is grown is Charlie has kicked it. Earlier this year, I was getting a pedicure. The woman next to me was updating her nail tech on what was going on in her life. Her husband had passed a few years before. Her kids were grown with lives and kids of their own. Even the big dog she’d had for years, the one she’d kept the house with the big yard for, had finally kicked the bucket. She was free.
She sold the house and gave most of her furniture to her kids or sold it. She bought a condo. Someone else did the yard work. Someone else did the repairs. She volunteered for the things she wanted to, not so that her kids could participate. Sometimes she stayed in her pajamas until 2pm on Saturdays and read books. Because she could. And no one fussed at her. She did not take care of a single living thing but herself. She visited other people for Thanksgiving and Christmas. She found she liked working part-time because it kept a routine in her life.
I gotta tell you, it sounded fabulous. I don’t want a farm now or ever. But a condo would be nice in about 40 years.