April 10, 2011
Since January my actions have been dictated by lists, some on 3x5 notecards, and some on 8x12 piecesof white paper. Things to Do seem to move seamlessly, from one list to the next, and back again. I’m knocking things off lists when I’m not making them. These days, I most enjoy taking a pen and making lines through completed tasks. It does not matter how significant or insignificant the said task is – there’s a grim sense of satisfaction that goes hand-in-hand with supposedly lightening my workload.
The trip list, the one on the refrigerator, the one that I’ve copied over innumerable times—I have had bad dreams about losing it. The reason being, one forgotten item could really gum up the works. That which is inconsequential is consequential if I think to write it down. I don’t want to deal with dire consequences. For example, I’ve penned the words Remind Veterinarian about Banamine on the current list. I’d written Schedule Veterinarian Appointment on the previous list. I did this, Dr. Wellington came, but said he’d need to come back, in order to write up the health certificates. Gotta have the health certificates because without them we won’t be able to get back into the US from Canada. This, getting stuck in Canada, actually appeals to me because I’d like to live in the Yukon.
Banamine is an anti-inflammatory drug, that can only be obtained by prescription. It’s good to have on hand when horses colic, that is, have an impaction. Horses cannot, as can goats, regurgitate – what goes in one end has to come out the other. So colic can be a very serious matter. This is the way it could go: Lose the list, forget to ask Dr.Wellington for the item, live to regret it.
I also penned the words Get Trailer Reflector. Bernie
Willis told me that his wife Jeanette said to him to tell me that this
is a must have. She, via he, added that white trailers aren’t visible
at night, so you need them for safety reasons. This is the way it could
go: Lose the list, forget to stop at Napa, have truck rear ended by semi.
I could go on and on and say something about each
and every little item that is on the rapidly expanding, rapidly shrinking,
rapidly expanding list. But lists are a form of minutia, and not really
of interest to anyone but their authors. But I can say this --- the day
in which we load Raudi and Siggi up into the trailer and pull out of here
will be a good one. Life will then, finally, be reduced its simplest terms.
I cannot deny that life would be a lot simpler if there were no horses
and no proposed trip. If this were so, I’d pack a few items in my
pack and just take off. But there are horses and there will be a trip.
So I keep listing, knowing full well that even if I don’t lose it
(the list, not my mind) that I’ll probably leave something important
behind, like, perhaps, pen and paper.