The world was too much with me today …

 

Well, I may not mean it exactly the way Wordsworth did, though I appreciate his ideas about the healing aspects of the natural world, but it was the world humans, not nature, shaped that was too much with me today.

There was a piece of good news: Henny James was featured in Dru’s Book Musings, talking about Irene Deep in Texas Trouble and her premonition that Irene Foxgloves would ruin the James’ family Christmas in Fort Worth. Henny proved to be right, but not in a way she ever dreamed of. You can read it here if you want: https://drusbookmusing.com/henny-james-2023/

Then on to the real world. I started the day with a longer list of “busy-ness” chores than I liked, and I still haven’t conquered some of them. I ordered a product online, something I’ve been using for at least thirty years—and got the wrong thing. So I “chatted” with an AI person (he really did have a name though I can’t remember it). He (that AI person) was pleasant and efficient, and I got a refund, but then I went to order the correct item, ran into a real person who I couldn’t understand and who insisted he couldn’t help me. I have yet to order what I wanted.

Next was the plumber: I had a couple of small plumbing problems in the cottage that could have waited a while, especially if Colin was coming soon. But then an outdoor spigot on the front porch began leaking big time. A plumber is coming tomorrow, but to my dismay the man I have used for twenty years has retired.

There were other small calls—reminders about things we needed to order, appointments to be made, and the like. Then mid-morning my alarm system began to beep at me. It told me that the battery in the bedroom window was low. Now, there is only one window in the bedroom, and because of the configuration of the room (once a parking bay), the arrangement of furniture is a bit awkward. Part of the six-foot headboard on my antique board overlaps the window, and there is a bedside table (my mom’s old sewing cabinet) in front of it. The window shade is never up, the window never opened (yes, I wish it had worked out differently, but you take what you have). I asked if we could bypass it, and the tech said I’d have to do it individually each time. Cancel that. She did bypass the warning alarm for several days so that it was silent and sent me a video on how to replace the battery. She was efficient, bright, and personable, but she might as well have been talking Greek to me in that video. I’m hoping Christian can understand it.

A couple of times in the morning I thought I heard Sophie banging around in her crate. She can come and go at will, but she’s usually not that noisy about it. About noon I looked out the window, and she was standing on the grass, shaking hard. When she tried to move, she stumbled and fell. Fortunately Jordan was home and came flying out the door when I called her. We flew around in a panic, Jordan issuing order like call Christian, call the vet, open the gate. Margaret from across the street came and walked Sophie in the driveway while Jordan collected car keys, etc. By then Sophie was walking okay, though Margaret said she seemed a bit out of it. And off they went to the vet.

Long story short, Sophie’s blood sugar had dropped dramatically. I know how perilous this is from a friend who has brittle diabetes. Once Soph was home, the vet told me to feed her immediately, and he adjusted her medications. By mid-afternoon, she was just fine. Barked furiously at the yard guys, demanded her dinner, all normal behavior for my Soph. I am so relieved and if it happens again, I know immediate food is the answer. Even before calling the vet. I had horrific thoughts of seizures and TIAs and all I could think was that surely we hadn’t gone through all that we had only to have her develop something else. She’s getting a few extra treats tonight.

Needless to say, I did not get much work done today, and I still have miles to go before I sleep, with apologies to Robert Frost. Good night, sweet dreams, and I hope for a better day tomorrow—for you too if you need it.

Is there a spot on the moon?

 

Crotchety old woman

Last night as Jordan walked by my desk, I said, “I feel like a crotchety old woman.” Not only did she not rush to deny that, I think I heard her mutter, “Yeah.” We had company for happy hour—good, dear longtime friends, the kind who fortunately love you in your worst moments. It may not have been my worst, but it surely was not my best. Everything irritated me, from the a/c which was too cold to the conversation that was too loud to the discussion of house repairs, a subject I am vehement about: I want the service people with whom I have a longstanding relationship, and Christian has finally come around to believing that is best. But when someone suggested our plumber wasn’t doing a good job, I bristled. It’s not the plumber, it’s the pipes, some of which are a hundred years old.

This morning my mood was not much better, but with what little good sense I had left I recognized that the problem was with me. Granted, some influences mostly beyond my control contributed: the atmosphere has been a bit tense around here since the refrigerator in the house quit and then, Saturday morning, a pipe began spewing raw sewage out under the deck. My work on a big project is consuming me but not going well, and I feel that it’s always on my mind. Jordan is consumed with a heavy workload, and I miss the easy camaraderie we used to haveand now enjoy less frequently. I could probably dig up other excuses, but the truth is that the problem is with me. I am in a fun and trying hard to claw myself out of it

It didn’t help that tonight two neighbors came for our regular Tuesday night happy hour, and I lost patience with one of them and spoke when I should have kept quiet. We did part as friends, but I was aware that my funk overtook me.

Lots of good happened today, and it should make me happy. For a brief period this morning everything happened at once: Keith, my favorite plumber, came, with a helper, and fixed the sewage problem, though he warned it is not a permanent fix—old pipes you know. While they were working on the deck, the yard guys arrived to fertilize, and Christian ran back and forth between the two.

When the plumber’s helper was getting ready to leave, he left the gate open. Suddenly I realized Sophie was nowhere around and not answering my frantic calls. I alerted the helper, called Christian, and began to alternate between prayer and chewing my nails. The plumber’s helper started down the street—Soph was in sight—intending to call her to come. Christian said, “That won’t happen. She’s not trained. I have to get the car.” So he got in my VW, drove down the street, opened the door, and she hopped right in. Moments like that, though, when I’m worried that she’ll be hit by a car or snatched by someone who wants to sell a cute dog, I realize how much she is a part of my life. I held my breath until I could lure her back into the house with a treat. And by the by—she is trained. She knows about “Come.” She just chooses not to do it.

The garden is something that should make me happy. Christian is going to buy a few herbs for the elevated herb garden which was decimated by the heat, but I noticed this morning that four or five green onions are poking up, straight and strong. The hyacinth bean vine on the fence is blooming, so I’m now reassured that we may get seeds to plant next year. And this morning I noticed that the Turk’s Cap, almost hidden by a tree, has a few brave blooms. On the downside, the pentas are growing and have a few blooms, but they are nowhere near their glory of previous years. When John, who owns the lawn company saw them, he said they were the worst he’d seen, and he felt sort of like an oncologist delivering bad news. Thanks a lot. And on the real downside, the deluge of nuts on the patio continues. And the mosquitoes are back!

Still the garden’s resurgence is a sign of hope to me, and I’m going to take it to heart and vanquish my funk. And I will take a few practical steps with my work projects, diverting myself to something with more immediate rewards.

Sweet dreams, all. Tomorrow is a newer, better day.

Grand Central Station

 

That’s what the cottage was like today—Grand Central Station. The PT guy always comes early, sigh, so I was up and at my desk by eight, if not exactly dressed for the world and professionally presentable. I called the plumbing company to report a leaking pipe, and to my amazement, my favorite plumber was here by eight-thirty. So he and the PT guy crossed paths for the second time in less than a month. I’m sure Dan the PT man thinks I have an odd relationship with my plumber, but if he saw the bills he’d know exactly the nature of the relationship.

Actually, the plumber, Keith, has been keeping my house running for almost thirty years, and I consider him a good friend. And being one of his longtime customers has its advantages, as it did when a pipe burst during snowmageddon. Today it was a kitchen faucet that whistles and whines at us, especially when we’re washing dishes in my kitchen which has no dishwasher. I thought I could fix it, spent a long time on the phone with a Delta rep (it’s a Delta faucet) who said she’d send me the wrench or key to clean out the aerator. But then yesterday we noticed water collecting in the recycle bucket that is stored under there. So I called for Keith. His verdict: order a whole new head. Delta has amazing records—with my name and address, they pulled it right up, knew what I had, and are sending the head which has a lifetime warranty. But with a warning that we must “flush the system” before installing. I know how to install, but I guess I’ll have to call Keith again about the flushing part. Maybe he and Dan can meet again😊

They both left, and I sort of fiddled at my desk, waiting for the PT nurse who comes once a week and was due any minute. Instead of the nurse, we got a storm. The sky turned really dark and the rain, while not torrential, was pretty heavy—as it has been for day after depressing day. And the atmosphere also depressing. Impulsively I contacted the three friends I was to have supper with and suggested rescheduling. It took a bit of coordination to check everybody’s schedule, change the restaurant reservation, etc., but we are now on the Sunday supper. It reminded me of that old saying, “Morning gray, evening red/brings down rain on the traveler’s head/,morning red, evening gray, speeds the traveler on his way.” Not sure I got that right. But, of course, by late afternoon the sun came out, and it would have been a lovely evening to go to dinner. See that egg on my face? One friend wrote cheerily that she heard that egg and sunshine were good for your complexion.

The nurse never did come, so she’ll come tomorrow. Sigh. Another interruption in the middle of my work morning. I did actually write a bit on my new mystery today. Working on getting myself back into the middle of it after too many distractions.

Late this afternoon, the yard crew came, which led to the usual frantic barking from Sophie, who now sleeps peacefully at my feet. And then, since the rain had stopped, our usual Tuesday night neighbors came for happy hour. Though the sun was shining, it was still too damp to sit outside, so we were in the cottage. Much talk of politics, both the city run-off schedule for June 3 and the 2022 election in which we are all determined that Governor Abbott must go. Abbott is pretty sure of his base, but I read somewhere that Beto O’Rourke, who says he won’t run, is out-polling Abbott. Politics is a funny business.

I am ambivalent about Beto, though I was fiercely for him when he challenged Cruz Whatever, but Democrats must field a strong candidate against Abbott. He and the Republican controlled legislature have been on the wrong side of every issue: abortion voter suppression, liquor to go (I don’t mind at all if people drink, enjoy wine myself, but the potential for deadly accidents and short tempers is appalling), critical race theory (which is a fancy way of saying do not teach the racist history of this country), constitutional carry (another fancy phrase that means almost anyone can walk around with a loaded gun any time—combine that with liquor to go and what could possibly go wrong?), health care for trans teens (though I understand, with gratitude, that one is dead for this session). I am appalled. One of my friends wrote that she was sure the Republicans are working toward a state where only white, male property owners can vote—they’ll call it constitutional originality. I’d laugh, if it weren’t so serious.

Now, as grand central station aka the cottage closes down, Jacob is outside in the dark hitting practice golf balls into the cage he has in the driveway. The other day he presented a sight so touching it almost made me teary—rain, gentle but steady, was coming down, and Jacob was out there, hitting golf balls and oblivious of the soaking he was getting. God bless Jacob…and God bless golf. I have much to say about teens who find something they are passionate about, but I’ll save it for another time.

Sleep tight. I hope each of you have found what in life you’re passionate about.

What my imagination does to a bit of excitement

 

North Texas was under severe storm alerts this afternoon and evening. Predictions called for hail the size of ping pong balls and strong winds. So far, we’ve had one nice spell of rain—medium heavy with thunder rolling. I’ve said this before—my mom told me thunder was the gods bowling. A recent article for our neighborhood newsletter, which I edit, came from a neighbor with thirty years with the National Weather Service. His description of thunder is that it’s a warning of bad things to come.

The nice folks behind me are tearing out their back porch and replacing it with a screened-in porch and putting in a pool and a cabana/guest house. All this will take time—I’m guessing the whole summer—and will entail a lot of construction noise. But they are good neighbors and have done their best to see that I am not disturbed (my cottage is right at the property line at the back of our property, so close to whatever they’re doing).

Today the young man called to tell Jordan workers digging at the back of their lot detected a strong smell of gas near my tankless water heater. Of course, Jordan semi-panicked, came running out to the cottage, and I called our plumber. They said they’d send Lonnie, who is more than familiar with the house and cottage—I’ve used the same plumbing company for over 25 years.

But before Lonnie could get here, the sky darkened and the thunder rolled, and my imagination conjured up a vision of lightning striking near leaking gas and an explosion taking out my cottage—and me. Seriously, the thought flitted across my mind that this could be the day I die. On the other hand, I was concerned that this foolishness would interrupt my nap. Oh, the trivia we choose to worry about. Fortunately, Lonnie arrived.

He sniffed and smelled—nothing. The ground was wet, but he saw no bubbles which would indicate a leak. He saw a sewer line that the cap had come off, and said if you’re not a plumber, you might not recognize the difference between dangerous gas and sewer gas. And if you stand near the tankless heater when it kicks in, you get an odor—fumes, not gas. He assured me I was perfectly safe but just to err on the side of caution I should call the gas company. Am I the only customer to whom the plumber says, “You have a good day now, sweetheart”?

The gas company is beyond efficient, but they can scare the daylights out of you. They have an obvious prepared list of cautions: leave the area at once, do not use your phone again, do not move a vehicle, no open flames, etc. l told the woman I would go to the opposite end of the house and nap—no need to tell her how small the cottage is—and she laughed.

So all is well that ends well. The Atmos guy said it was no doubt the start-up fumes from the tankless water heater, and he saw no problem. The only problem I see is that now I’ll get another plumbing bill, and they are never modest.

And our storms? They’re due to be over in fifteen minutes, and the sky does not look at all threatening. I’m grateful there was no hail, but darn! I’d have loved a good rain. I guess I’ll sleep well tonight—no gas leak, no storms.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

Some days just don't go like they should

With Jamie, my younger son
Note the macramé which made him say I'm still a hippie at heart

Today was supposed to be one where routine just flowed, things went smoothly along. Showering in the morning, yoga, writing--ah yes, the idyllic life of a writer. It didn't work out as I intended at all. I really didn't feel well. Can't tell if the cold I thought I had banished came back (that's part of it) or if I perhaps over-served myself with wine last night in my zeal for visiting with Megan and family (I confess I'm pretty sure that's part of it). Saturday night I stepped off a curb that was deeper than I thought (good thing I was holding on to Jamie) and I truly think I jarred the whole left side of my body. Today I'm limping again and feel like I need to hold on to things to even get around the house.
Subie interrupted my yoga (which wasn't going well) and we had a nice visit in the morning; when she left, I went back to the yoga mat, coughed so hard I gagged and gave up on yoga.
Good things did happen: the dog groomer came much earlier than I expected and was through by one o'clock; I wrote my thousand words for the day; just settled down for a nap when the plumber called and was one his way to replace the dripping kitchen faucet--the new one is high and rounded with a soap dispense and one of those nozzle attachments you can pull down--carefully. Jordan arrived to get Jacob from school and stayed for a visit. I did a load of laundry (still not folded) and ran and emptied the dishwasher. Subie came back bringing pasta for supper. Now that I look at it, it wasn't a bad day. I just didn't feel good. Maybe it was the chicken salad I ate last night in a restaurant? A friend once warned me that she never ordered chicken salad because somewhere, sometime, someone had to bone that chicken by hand.
Sophie is a new dog--about half the dog she was before. She looks so skinny and little. The groomer got all the mats without shaving her (my big request) and now you can see her pretty eyes. I'm relieved, because she was really shaggy. Spring better come because she now has her spring haircut.
Tomorrow is Jordan's actual birthday, and we're all set to celebrate at lunch. I would like to be through feeling about half myself. I'm rarely sick, and when I don't feel well I always look for something to blame it on. Compulsive about much of life, I can't even relax enough to accept that I don't feel well. I am grateful that the extreme tired feeling of wanting to crawl back in bed at every chance is gone. But my conscience always tell me if I'd just straighten up and fly right, I'd be okay. Please, Lord, I'd like to feel better tomorrow.