Rise and Shine, Sleepyhead!
A new year is here.
These past two years have
been filled with frustration. Arriving safely at photographic points and maintaining my balance depends on my
other person’s willingness to help, and that help is lacking oftentimes.
My sphere of outside
contact with others has shrunk to the size of a pea, and interferes with the scope of my
writings, causing anxiety. I struggle, but I don’t
give up. I hope you aren’t struggling to find a reason to read further.
Christmas
is officially over!
My last gingerbread cookie
with a tea stained cup of piping hot
English Breakfast Tea.
On a whim at the beginning of January, I gifted
myself a Gratitude Journal with a different affirmation for each day and prompts
for mindful reflection. It is one that allows a person to work it at their own
pace. It’s not easy for me to shift my
perspective, so my ordinary moments feel extraordinary. I find it exhausting trying to promote a bit
of happiness.
I’ve been stuck on the
first page for four days now. My
affirmation is “I have courage”. One of
the things I wrote that I have been looking forward to is “Deciding what I want
for the rest of my life”.
As I write this, I guess
the simple answer is gratitude, since I bought this dang journal in the first
place, and the rest of my life could be just one day; but if it isn’t, I never
believe the rest of my life is as long as I thought it was forty years ago.
A gift this past Christmas
from my husband is an old book published in 1937 titled “The Birds of America, from
original drawings of John James Audubon”. The 500 plates are reproductions of drawings
Audubon published in 1827 to 1844, so the ordinary person could afford to view his
paintings. It also has a six-page
introduction by conservationist William Vogt.
Matte ink is used, and the
paintings are still beautiful, although all pages suffer from edge tanning. A slight drawback of the book is the weight of it. It’s like lugging around a
small boulder on the plastic tray of my walker creating quite a noticeable bit
of drag when I push forward.
A dear friend since
childhood gave me the book “Webb’s Cosmos, Images and Discoveries from the
James Webb Space Telescope” which was published last year. I obtained the book “The Universe and Beyond,
Sixth Edition” soon afterwards. All
books, but I doubt one could ever have too many books.
It's definitely cold here,
so one obviously knows it is wintertime, but it still seems milder than most
recent winters. No snow, not even a
slight coating; no sleet or freezing rain or a week of temperatures not rising
above the teens F. Winter’s fury
could show itself at any time, so I feel a little bit like someone waiting for
the other shoe to drop the minute I publish this.
My outdoor garden this
month is void of little treasures to find in the cold, or maybe, I’m just tired
of the same photo fifty different ways. My
indoor garden, a converted desktop, harbors eight Peperomia plants trying to
not look like the mutations they have become.
I struggle with dry air from
the heat pump running long periods of time making each plant’s watering needs
different from the next. In winter the
sun moves at a lower arc across the sky, causing light to come through the
window hitting the nearest plants. They
suffer, even though they are five to six feet away.
The thickest leaf ones are
nearer the window now, while the fuzzy leafed one has been moved the furthest
away because it is susceptible to sunburn, and the thin leafed ones are in the
middle and at the far end. The miniature
leafed one that looks so puny, just laughs at the rest while it soaks up all
the sunlight.
There was a time when I
was the houseplant whisperer, but after this most recent experience, it seems I
have become the houseplant undertaker.
My mistake is not being
attentive, not checking up on them every day to see if one needs that magic elixir
of life - water. I believe indoor plants
contribute to one’s wellbeing, but I suck at contributing to their wellbeing. I’m working at improving.
Their photos appear here,
more as proof of their tenacity, than my capabilities.
Perhaps some form of
gratitude will drift along eventually; I’m optimistic that way. I just hope you aren’t grateful that this
writing is over.
Warm Hugs,
Yvonne
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