On Sunday, rest is acceptable. It is God-ordained.
Due to a fresh breeze off the sea, I could lie in the sun, chilled from working in the shade, and feel the exquisite joy of the warming touch of the sun. I savoured the heat.
Then it was back to work before an afternoon walk with Her Highness. I look spade and rake to the surface of the unseeded land around the fruit trees. I evened out some irregularities in the surface and got it ready for the three cubic yards of soil that’s coming on Tuesday morning.
But I also cleared some of the land that I’ll leave bare. It’s so shady and dry close to my eastern fence, I just cleaned the surface and it looks great, so I’m going to continue cleaning up the land that I’ll seed next year today.
It really makes my yard look great to clean up the last of the un-landscaped land. Next Spring, when I seed the area I’m just cleaning now, I’ll have landscaped almost the entire half-acre of Pinecone Park.
I can hardly wait to undertake the repetitive, empty mindless work of ferrying the soil, wheelbarrow by wheelbarrow, to the land of Pinecone Park. My odd mind loves the monotony. I really had a nice day getting the area ready for the final task: seeding. I’ll do that, when the rains come.
I had trouble speaking on Sunday, and on the dog walk, I had to mini melt downs. All day was difficult, but things got worse through the day.
It began with my friend, a really truly good and nice man, telling me about his scary diagnosis. His news came to me after the tragic death of another friend, and so I called my friend, Bruce, to have a chat so that I’d feel better. But he wasn’t home.
The day went off kilter because I kept calling Bruce and didn’t get an answer, and Bruce spends a lot of time at home. He also had a dreadful bleed in his brain a few years ago, so worry started to fester in my brain. Finally, I decided to call his sister and he was at her house. Phew.
As soon as I hung up, I started to cry; then the crying got and worse. I did, therefore, what I always do when I need to be calmed down: I called Dwight.
This morning, I can speak well again.
Besides seeding the area I’m currently landscaping, I have other projects lined up for next Spring and Summer: I’m going to fix up the Campion garden, giving it an edge and clearing out all the weeds and I can attack the jungle between the front garden and the street that is the last of raw forest left on my lot.
I’m going to leave the forest, but I’ll clear out the dead fallen branches, the decaying fallen foliage and I’ll remove the dead branches from the trees.
I felt poorly about not crafting. It was a huge part of my life before my breakdown. But no more. Every time I go outside—and I mean this—every time, I look at my yard and get the thrill of accomplishment that crafting gave me. My yard has been my project since moving here, and as my work matures and as I get deeper and deeper into the details, it looks better and better.
When I look at my yard, I feel really, really good—just as I do when I look at my pets. I feel really good when every time I get into the hot tub, too. I’ve been having two spas a day because it’s such a delight to me. And fires: They make me feel really good, too.
Some trusted friends, understandably, thought I’d lost my mind when I suddenly upped and moved here. Now they’re telling me my move was prescient genius. Nice, eh!