Sitting at my desk
and gazing out the window at the garden, I see the stark contrast between last
year and this year. Last year we had a lush and lovely yard, at least the half
near the main house. This year, we have abundant and leggy ground cover in the
back half, by my patio, but the grass has not done well and there are great
bare patches. Is it because last year it was new grass, not strong enough now
to endure three dogs peeing on it—I admit I’m not happy with that theory. The
other thing, of course, is the extreme heat. And last year, the deck was full
of abundantly blooming flowering plants—a bougainvillea, hydrangea and hibiscus.
This year, most of the blooming plants are on the front porch where they are somewhat
sheltered from the heat by a partial roof. The ones left are struggling and
look—well, the word for it is crisp. It’s this blasted hot summer we’re having.
The lettuce, long turned to brown stalks, and the basil, drooping beyond
recovery, need to be torn up and discarded. When even basil doesn’t flourish,
you know it’s bad.
I guess maybe I’m
not in a good mood tonight, and perhaps the heat magnifies my discontent. I
have so much to be thankful for that I am ashamed to say all those blessings
sometimes cause me stress. My birthday was wonderful—but stressful. Being the
center of attention and yet confined to my seated walker was a new experience. The
trip to Tomball was wonderful—but stressful. I’m at a crossroads with my
career, not sure what I want to do next, exploring. Being an impatient soul, I
want something to leap out of the woodwork at me and say, “Write this!” Some
days I think I did best as a student when there was a clear assignment.
Jordan, Christian,
and Jacob are going on vacation soon. I lived alone in the house for probably
twenty years and did fine, but now I’m used to Jordan coming out morning and
night, just to pop in, and to Jacob occasionally wandering out to visit. I will
feel abandoned, isolated—or maybe I am just telling myself that. But I am
busily filling my social calendar for the time they will be gone. I know I’ll
be fine once they’re gone—it’s the anticipation.
I am not an easy
traveler. I think anxiety pretty much covers it, so excited as I am about our
upcoming Great Lakes cruise, I am also apprehensive. I will be traveling with
the family travelmaster, Jordan, superstar travel agent, and I know she takes
care of every detail, planning ahead, and will take excellent care of me. But
doubts beset me—how steep is the ramp up to the ship, boat or whatever we’re
going on? What about seasickness,
apparently possible even on the Great Lakes. I have more than once been accused
of bringing my bridges up close, so I can jump them, and I guess that’s what I’m
doing now.
The logical part
of my mind scoffs at all this and lectures me sternly on how petty my problems
are. I have friends who are facing medical uncertainties, one woman I care
about who rather suddenly finds herself in hospice care and with at best a
short lifespan left. How dare I grouse about my problems, most of which grow
out of the blending of many happy advantages with my natural disposition toward
anxiety. No panic attacks this time—just a slightly queasy stomach.
The best I can do
is be stern with myself, whack those anxieties right out of my life, and carry
on with a smile. It may take me a day or two. Meanwhile. I am reading in search
of a new topic, reading focusing on some interesting (and spunky) women of the late
nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
Friends, thanks
for listening. I’ll be back “at myself” in a day or two. Hang on with me,
please. Have a good evening.
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