Laura Ingalls was a rockstar.  Remember her; half-pint from Little House on the Prairie?  Pioneer Goddess.

 

Since I am still unemployed, I've been balancing out my job search by working around the house.  I'm not talking about dusting and picture arranging, although I have been doing that too.  I'm talking moving and stacking a cord of wood (don't roll your eyes until you get out there and try it, trust me.)  Chopping up kindling and building the fire every night.  Removing a GIANT Cecil Bruner climbing rose that had 30 foot long canes while balancing on the trellis 10 feet above the ground while hacking away with lopping shears (it took me almost 4 hours.)  Digging up half of my front yard (remember, it hasn't rained in weeks, that dirt is like concrete) and removing bushes that were planted in 1940.  You think Kunta Kinte had Roots?  Ha!  And while I've been doing these type of chores, I've been keeping up on the baking as well.   All these unpleasant tasks (another word for chore) must be inspired by reading "The Story of Edgar Sawtelle" every night before I collapse into a 9 hour coma. Great book but at this rate it will take me 6 mos to finish it.

 

How the hell did Ma Ingalls do it?  She didn't have a Viking Range you guys.   Heck she didn't even get a stove until Half Pint secretly saved up and bought one as a surprise for her for Christmas one year (snap on you Pa Ingalls!) She took care of the animals (Note: not a cat that tolerates you in exchange for a can of $5 fancy cat feast).  Cleaned the cabin (I will never complain about dust again thinking about all the shit that blows through those logs.)  Planted and tended the vegetable garden.   Don't forget, there were no Farmers Markets  conveniently located by a great wine bar, back then.  Made sure the girls had no holes in their prairie dresses as well as producing a best selling author chronicling the life and times on the wagon trail.    And Pa?  Well she made him  feel like King of the Plains.   And she baked.  No wonder pioneer women only lived to 45.

 

I'm exhausted.  My back is killing me.   My hands look like I"m 95 years old.  I fall asleep every night by 9:30.  And Soren asks me what I've done all day with myself.   I cannot wait to work in an office again.  I need the rest.  Rockstars in the Pioneer days sure knew how to live.  Thank goodness I was born in 1962.  What's the number for the masseuse again?  I will never make fun of bonnets again.