It's all about freedom Markie. Emil likes to call me Markie like he did back when I was six. Makes life worth livin'. Now I ain't talkin' about doin' anything you want 'cause some of that steps on toes. Gets in the way of other people's lives. Like some of that NRA business. Not that I've got anything carryin' a gun. Shot a few deer and ducks in my time. But those boys go overboard.
But that's not the freedom I'm talkin' about. Sometimes the mood hits me. Might be a throw back to the days when I was up and walkin' but still in diapers. Nothin' like the feelin' of runnin' buck naked through the house with my mom or dad chasin' after me. Yellin' like they think I'm gonna soak the wool Mohawk carpet and literally raise a stink. Me giggling', knowin' all the while how much power I had danglin' right in front of me. I knew I wasn't gonna pee on anything. But they didn't. Power and freedom all rolled into one.
Now that same mood still hit me when I was in my fifties. Up in the woods. No one around. Indian Summer. No bugs. Lord knows you don't want any 'skeeters or ticks around when you're gettin' weird. Me, I like to do it when I'm gatherin' fire wood. Buck naked. Well, not completely. Ever since I took ten stitches in my ankle I never fired up the saw without leather boots on. Also wore gloves and headphones. But that's about it.
Lena never caught on. But she did find it odd that I could spend eight hours droppin', sawin' and splittin' oak then come home in clothes near as clean as they were in the mornin'. Now that I think about it, maybe she did and was smart enough to not complain about havin' fewer clothes in the wash.
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