Grapevine: 3 gloves, to that time

You remember Huck in the woods when he heard that strange noise them ghosts make, when they have something on mind they can’t make themselves understood about.

Except I don’t believe in ghosts, and I am perfectly a living human being, just the same would have happened to me today. Jemma brought Buddie’s puppies to show how big they’d got, and… we forgot them for a while.

I’d had three baseball gloves, to that Past time.

Let me say no more, about all the feeling for those. Now I’ve got new gloves, one from Jemma’s dad and altogether four, so I can reckon on matters with some inner absolute comfort.

Some guys would say it’s a ■paradox, something twisted in the innards, as John says, to talk inner comfort and grammar, but today I’ve been like in a bliss with the gloves, one per puppy, and well, grammar does no harm to the bliss, though it’s a bit of a dispute on my hands.

I’ve always had clarity of mind that Simple matters are Simple, and Progressive things are Progressive, but those Perfect and Progressive got mixed up somehow, I thought.

For the Perfect Aspect, we can figure as if we have gotten to a place. This is usually more of a gain than three gloves in precisely pieces, but it is generally to a mark in place or time you get to reckon, with the Perfect Aspect. If I put my mark now and here, I’ve been happy with four new baseball gloves.

The Perfect Progressive is like about life’s business {AT} some “place” in time. We combine the Perfect and the Progressive, to figure on people, creatures, or matters.

I’ll have been keeping an eye on Buddie’s puppies for two hours, when the clock goes four. Time ago, a puppy herself, Buddie always ran straight ahead and out into the flower garden, when you let her out of the house in the morning. At early hours, says Jemma, many flowers look like buds, because they haven’t opened for sunshine yet.

Check this one out, for some more Perfect and Progressive talk.