"For fast-acting relief
try slowing down."
Looks like it's been a while since I last wrote here. And if you asked me what I'd done in the interim I'm not sure I could tell you.
Well, maybe that's not exactly true. My muscles, my sciatica and my arthritic thumb could tell you I did something I rarely do. I worked in the yard. My dad had a lily bed out front that was in desperate need of thinning out. I'm not sure how I new that, except that it looked crowded and tight. Plus there were two seemingly immaculately conceived maple trees smack in the middle of all the lilies. To get to them, I had to dig up lilies. And one can't just dig up one lily. One leads to two and two leads to four. And four often leads to whole lily families in one bulb.
It was hard work. I broke a shovel and Sweetie broke a rake. FYI: If you are digging something that is apparently bigger than what you think it is and you lean on the shovel handle with all your might trying for some leverage, sometimes the handle moves but the shovel stays put. That might be when I threw my back out.
It was hot. I waited til the temperatures had dropped from the high nineties to the high eighties. When it's that hot and you're up to your elbows in dirt, you are soon covered in mud. I was grateful for the pool to jump in when I felt on the verge of heat stroke. FYI: Ten degrees may not mean much from the stand point of how much sun shines down on you. It does, however, make a big difference in the temperature of pool water. Brrr! But there is a glorious feeling of cool relaxation once your body adjusts to the stark difference between hot and cold.
After the lilies were dug up, I had to figure out something to do with them. Since I don't know anything about replanting bulbs - all that stuff about drying them out, storing them in a cool dry place for the winter, replanting in the spring, etc. I've tried it before and as I recall when I found them at the end of the winter season all I had was little daffodil mummies, dried up and brittle. So I picked another day to dig holes, plant lilies and talk to worms in the front flower bed. If I were a fisher woman, I'd have enough bait for a full day of fishing. I can remember going fishing in Vermont with my grandfather one time. Digging up the worms wasn't bad. There is something to be said for the dank, earthy smell and feel of woodsy dirt. Contrast that to the curling a wriggly worm and piercing it with a hook. It seemed cruel even to my childish eyes. God bless the person who invented plastic worms.
For each day that I worked in the yard, it took a couple days of recuperation. I swear I'm just not as agile as I once was. I suppose if I exercised a little more (I've found walking the dog is NOT an exercise in anything but frustration) and gave up making and eating baked goods I'd find crawling around on all fours a lot easier that it is. Truth be told, the easiest thing by far is to leave things the way they were when my father was alive.
When I sat down to write I had something else in mind all together, but I think I shall leave this as it is and save another story for another day.
Today I'm grateful for the ladies in my writing group. I'm prayerful that one of our member's husband will return to health quickly so she can regale us with stories of hospital life. I'm grateful for EMDR - I think. I'm grateful for the rain that has been falling down on my newly transplanted lilies, helping them to settle in for a long winter's nap.
Wishing for you a place that is cool when you're hot, and a place that is warm when you're chilled.