Firewood Rings

If you took a walk around Fiorella's circular driveway, you'd notice a stand of iron firewood rings on the other side of it, anillos grandes filled to capacity against la clima invernal.  Husband and Yardman supplied the bigger stuff and Fiorella specialized in the twigs, small branches, and trash wood, which are vital for starting un fuego en la chimenea. The scene is quite picturesque, but if Fio had seconds, she'd move the firewood into a shed at the back of the house, where it could be kept drier and be more accessible. In other words, instead of having to be lugged in through the front room and dining room to the fireplace in the den, the wood could come in through the den door.
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But how did you get the idea of putting firewood rings in front of the house in the first place, Fio?
I saw one in front of Red Lobster  fifteen years ago. It was absolutely charming. Of course, the logs--all the same size--were stripped of their bark and had probably been dipped in lye, but never having never lived in the country before, I had stars in my eyes and bats in my belfry. 
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Whatever. Right now, Fiorella has no choice but to make the best of it, which means she's stuck with toting firewood through the front room and dining room to the den, all the time trailing bark, twigs, and leaves behind her. The firewood rings may not be worth it, but the fires are.

Hour by Hour

Today was the first day Fiorella had gone out into the backyard since Husband died, and she found FOUR good-sized fallen branches, an obvious gift from God. Gracias a Dio.
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Right now, Fio is sitting on el sofa en la sala, drinking chocolate caliente, and keeping un ojo on la chimenea mirar si un fuego will start. All she has so far is whisps of slow smoke. Why is it that el novio de su hija can start un fuego en cinco minutos, while it usually takes Fio una hora?
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The fire was still not doing more than smoking so Fio unleashed her frustration on a stupid FB post that said that according to a Gallup Poll, Obama was the least popular president ever. Even Obama-haters know that's a lie, but Fiorella felt ornery enough to leap the fray with a simple "That's untrue." Then came the bombast of nastiness, of course--why is it that so manyTrump supporters have to get personal--but instead of ignoring it, Fiorella decided to bomb the playing field. And she did, listing every one of Trumps sins she could remember without having to consult an encyclopedia.
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As Fio finished up her red-hot diatribe, she heard a snapping sound from the fireplace and looked up to see a fan of beautiful orange flames. Obviously, her anger had turned the trick! OMG--does that mean she's a superhero and can turn on the heat anywhere she goes?
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After a couple of hours, Fiorella let the fire die. The fireplace is about three inches thick with ashes and she wants to clean it out tomorrow. Meanwhile she is watching the news/weather/sports on TV and wondering when broadcasters decided to become comedians. Walter Cronkite never felt the need to lead off with wisecracks or get chummy with his audience.

From La Chimenea to Weird

As in everything else, when it comes to feeding el fuego en la chimenea, Fio prefers the weird-- branches that twist and turn, the ones with bark still on them--the ones that call themselves to her attention.🙃
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Out of vulgar curiosity, Fiorella's been trying to trace down a guy she used to date in high school. He was very bright and, most of us thought, destined to make it big, but she can find neither head nor hair of him through computer searches. On the other hand, if you research Fio through her alternative identity, she's made quite a splash.😊
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For years, Fio thought badly of her mother-in-law for being angry at her husband when he "died and left her," but now, in her own bereavement, Fio understands. M-in-L's anger was a way of dealing with unbearable sorrow, just as Fiorella is dealing with her own sorrow by being constantly active. 💗
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Looking good--we all want to. From the moment we are born, we are complimented on how cute , handsome, or pretty we are. Everywhere we go, we know we are being judged on how we look. It's not just our faces, figures, and wardrobe choices, but our possessions--cars, houses, lawns, etc. It's a shallow judgment, but the only way to prevent it would be for everyone to go blind.  😕
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Suddenly this afternoon, Fiorella suddenly understood that we are, each one of us, everywhere we've ever been at the same time we are wherever we are now. (That's the sort of enlightenment that made Mother say, "You think too much.") 😧

Tidying Up

Fiorella's Christmas decorations are about half-way down, thanks to the efforts of los vecinos, su hija, y el novio de su hija, but there's still a lot she has to handle by herself. Yesterday, she gathered all the  Christmas light cords and stored them in a big box, then gathered all the wreaths--eight of them--and prepared them for storage in a another big box. Today, she plans to take down all the swags that she can reach. She'll also have to figure out a way to mark the iron branches of her twenty-year-old H-E-B tree so she can use it again next year--the identification tags on the limbs and the stem of the tree have half-disintigrated over time. (Her first option for replacement is different-colored twisties.)
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Oops. Glancing over at the fireplace, it looks like Fio has at last overloaded the poor thing and killed the flame. So much for her plan of using home-grown lena for heat for the rest of el invierno.
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Fiorella's heart is touched thats so many people have consoled her and volunteered to help her. She is also touched by all the sweet sympathy cards she has received--which actually outnumber the Christmas cards she got this year.
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Okay, Fio will admit she has been putting off going through Husband's desk and file drawers to find financial statements that the probate lawyer says she will need. She isn't worried about surprises--Fiorella handled most of the finances herself--but it just seems so intrusive.
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Fiorella has been wearing a lot of Husband's t-shirts lately. He won't need them anymore, they fit her just right, and she needs extra shirts to wear under the vast wardrobe of his pull-overs she's inherited. Besides, wearing Husband's clothes make her warm and loved.💔

THE CHILDREN

Day after day after day after day
Night after night after night after night
The children waste their youth away
Waiting for wrong to be set right

Excerpt from WHERE THE HEART LEADS (with a few revisions)

Before he did anything else, he had to visit Beth.

He parked on the church road and walked to her grave, then squatted down to put the Thanksgiving chrysanthemums in the vase and think things over. He remembered when he first saw her, the weekend she'd met his family, their two-year courtship, the day they got married, their honeymoon in the foreman's cottage. They were so young, so infallible.

Their years at The University of Texas had been difficult, but somehow the hardships drew them even closer together, and when they graduated, the world had opened its arms to them. Beth was starring in Dallas musicals, and he was an up-and-coming architect. The birth of Delilah had been the icing on the cake.

Then Dad started having stomach trouble, and he'd found himself spending every other weekend in the Bosque Bend Hospital waiting room. And when the end came, he knew had had to move Beth and Delilah back to the ranch.

He'd been surpised at how quickly Beth had adjusted to the lifestyle. Oh, God, they'd had so much together. Every day, they'd ride out together wiht Delilah on the saddle in front of him. And the week befor Beth died, she'd told him she was pregnant.

He gazed at the chrysanthemums again. He would always love Beth, but she was slipping further and further away from him every day, while Moira was drawing closer and closer. He bowed his head for a long moment, then stood up, tugged Beth's gold band off his ring finger, and put it in his pocket.

Beth had been the wife of his youth, but he wanted Moira ro be the wife of his maturity.

Life and Death

When you get down to basics, what do we leave on earth but our children and our good deeds? The rest is window-dressing.
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Needless to say, Fiorella has been mulling over the great mystery of death lately, and one of the questions she's come up with is that if we go to heaven after death, does that mean earth has been our hell?
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One thing for sure, death obliviates sorrow, pain, and suffering. Husband is part of the universe now, blended with eternity.
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Fiorella is edging into Hindu sannyasa, the stage of life when one gives away all one's belongings and embraces a life of prayer and contemplation, but she's still got a few saucy stories in her yet to write. Be on the look-out.
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Fio just realized that Husband's mother's birthday was on Sunday. What a nice early birthday present for Dolly to see her son again. It's a second chance for both of them.
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The kids say they're calling to make sure Fio herself is okay, but she thinks what they really need is to hear her say the world is going to be okay.