Thursday, August 19, 2021


There is little or no summer garden this year. Even the plants that reliably volunteer are expired, or are simply no-shows. It wasn't a plan, but a lack of planning, a lack of motivation. I think I psyched myself out of planting, tending, weeding, watering, and battling squirrels, gophers, and goats, by imagining long, hot, summer days. In fact, we have mostly had long, cloudy, summer days, with virtually no consistency of sunlight, nor heat. For me, it's been heaven. Of course, being an anxious, fretful woman, I have been waiting, breath abated, for the other shoe to drop. I watch the sky for signs, I check the forecast, twice daily, and again before bed... is the heatwave coming? Will there be hot dry wind, and merciless temperatures? Any day now. Probably. Soon. And still it is fair and mild, just as I love it. I could have had a flower bed, even tender lettuce, and sweet chard. I don't think tomatoes and peppers were ever going to succeed in this sort of gentle summer. Maybe, there is still time to start those flowers.

I don't think I have entirely retired from gardening. I hope this has only been a long pause. I am slowing down, though. I've noticed. Sometimes, especially when the kitchen is clean, and there is laundry washed, dried, and folded, and a dinner simmering, I don't dare start anything else. I feel like beginning a project will only add to the workload, make another mess. So, I haven't painted, haven't stitched, or crocheted, or baked a cake. I blog a lot, which is safe, I suppose, in terms of not creating disorder. I am older, and feeling it, and... and I am scared of pain. Injuries, from that incident, are still an issue, and limit my mobility, and when I do something "wrong," or too much, I end up locked, and hurting. I can't even be sure what I am doing "wrong," and it's a terrible shock to be reminded how much discomfort can come from turning my head, or whatever. I took Max and Maria to the beach, and we were jumping waves, floating, paddling around, having a lovely time. Then a small wave, just the peak of it, before it broke, hit the side of my head and neck, and it felt electric, it stunned and disoriented me. Maria walked me out of the water, and the happy outing was over. I have never had an experience like this, playing in the surf and being aggrieved by the water, and it makes me very sad. I've lost a happy place, the confidence to frolick and be released in the waves.

You know, if I could take that pill, the one that makes you forget a traumatic event, I think I would. I can expect to age, to change and slow down, but nothing happens that I don't question... is it because that woman drove into my van? Is it because of the injuries I sustained, the ones that will never go away? Then, I can't help but feel powerless, and weak. Powerless to stop the memories, to ever feel restored or healed, or safe, and weak for not healing myself, for not being ok, fine, over it. It makes me think of everyone that has been traumatised, abused, and my heart feels heavy for everyone. I think of how much more compassion, patience, and healing so many of us must be in need of, and I feel sympathy and concern, some sadness. I know... I am not the only one, that people do recover, can move forward, act courageously. Well, whatever is hurting you, or giving you pause, I hope you can still garden, splash in the ocean, find quiet moments to enjoy peaceful thoughts, and feel safe... I so wish we all could have happy places.

Would you look at our home cafe? It's delighting me. It's a happy place, for sure. There is still an empty drawer, which is surprising. I moved the table cloths down into a cupboard, and teacups onto the top shelf. The cupboard is holding our crockpot, and a rice cooker. I love those two appliances, and it's nice to have them put away, and not rotating between inconvenient spots throughout the house. I shared this picture on Instagram, and sat for a long time trying to think of a good caption... something about hygge and coziness and feeling good. Maybe, I even felt pretty, but not me, not how I look, but pretty reflected in the procelain mug of chamomile tea, pretty in my comfortable dress and comforting apron, pretty in the hum of the dishwasher, dinner dishes cleared, and the cats all inside, pretty from the soft way my legs feel after a long bicycle ride, from hearing crickets, and knowing that everyone is home, and no one has a cold anymore. Thankful and content, is what I wrote, and I like being reminded that contentment in simple things is rich, and satisfying. I am lucky.
Another thing I shared on Instagram is our kitty, Sakamoto, and I called him a land-seal. Land-seal is a nickname I have for him, especially when I come upon him napping in the middle of the floor, sleek and black like a seal, his shiny fur even looks wet, like he's just come out of the surf. The he rolls, slowly, on his back and shows his soft belly, round and full like a healthy seal. He is adorable, a shy and tender soul, with a lust for noms, and foody comforts. He meows in his plaintive peeps, imploring and sing-song. His voice is tiny, but the message is compelling, Feed me. Food is love, and I want love. He wraps his tail around my leg, then slides onto the floor, and rolls around expectantly, and I pet him, scratch around his neck and heap terms of endearment on him. He eats it all up.

1 comment:

Ruth said...

I love your new cupboard and cozy cafe. Soon you'll have a daily newspaper to read while you sip your coffee/tea. Sakamoto looks so sweet. Love male black kitties.