Gardens...amazing adventures if one's not faint of heart and willing to embrace the world beyond plants as it slips into the mysterious wonders of dark.
Colder than frozen daiquiris in winter and hotter than the wrath of hell in summer is that lovely grey concoction of gravel, sand, cement and water that takes up a large portion of my back yard. Hug hug, kiss kiss! I love you, my poison free oasis. You are the only place in the entirety of my not so large yard where I can roam without having to spray a coating of pyrethrins over my shoes and half way up my pant legs before I mingle with the ticks the south produces in such mortifying abundance.
Only in my yard and every other yard in the south and not so much the south can one stand on the asphalt in front of their mail box, stoop down to clean a little leaf litter from the patio drainage outlet at the curb, take the mail with them into the bathroom where the light is bright enough to detect what creature is crawling up the back of their hand, and discover a tick making a beeline to their arm and dinner time. I hate the south. Oh, did I tell you, I HATE THE SOUTH...sometimes :(
A body that's falling apart a little bit faster than I had envisioned has caused me to become somewhat disillusioned with my aging process. Mentally I always seem to stay the same age, with an out of focus vision in my mind of just being me. Physically I'm a wreck!
My chiropractor's becoming a member of my family; the heating pad is a frequent flyer to my thighs, butt, and shoulders, with an ice pack thrown in here and there; and exercise is my ticket to escape rigor mortis. I now understand that little phrase of feeling like "death warmed over". I've worked myself back up to being active in the gardens, pacing myself a bit better so pain isn't my constant bed mate.
Unlucky at being lucky or lucky at being unlucky...oh wait...are those the same thing? Dog Dustin met a skunk one evening while out and about at potty break time. He whisked himself back through the sliding glass doors before the waft of a profane stench of grated onions and a ton of mashed garlic filled the air and ruined my night.
Playing grab me if you can, he was tackled and lived in the bathtub for the next hour, being bathed four times with an entire bottle of shampoo, then slathered in tomato juice which was a waste of time, then covered with a bottle of conditioner. The conditioner did the trick.
My maxi dress went into the garbage, and his dog collar was tossed onto the front porch for the night, then into the trash can. His rabies tags soaked for several hours in a can of enzyme solution, the bathtub and floor was a bitch to clean up, and a faint reminder of essence of skunk still lingers on the floor, walls, and carpet. I crawled into bed at 5 am.
He's the squeakiest, cleanest pooch in the state of Tennessee. I'm the tiredest dog mommy in the state of Tennessee. For a brief time the next day, I was curiously wondering if dog burgers would taste yummy yum cooked medium rare.
I will have viewed two total eclipses of the sun before the end of August, and the second time around I will have googles to see what the beauty of the corona surrounding that fiery ball is all about. How cool is that!?! Panama, Central America in the 80's and Nashville, Tennessee this year - just when I was beginning to worry the
lighter side of life was abandoning me.
Harmony in life is just out of arms reach, so the tranquility it brings isn't there for me; but regrets are fading and the ability to embrace that which I can't change is becoming a little bit easier to achieve. I've always had the resourcefulness to create a higher pain tolerance in the past, so with modification and meditation, life is the best I can make it for little seventy year old me. I hope to enjoy it for years to come, the best I'm able.
Life beyond the next meal...what is that?