It's still in the thirties and the rain is still sloughing down the hill
The next eight to twelve weeks are a long line of Saturdays in effect, but for the PT, regular workouts and writing, I am on something of a holiday. Movements are daily dictated by ADA rides, appointments and the sweet, slow, careful healing of a body badly beaten up by yours truly and then subjected to lots and lots of surgeries since 2018.
A two-fisted sun came out of hiding yesterday, two-fisted because after weeks in hiding, the intensity of the sun's rays was so bright as to be almost hard to bear. It was unbelievable, and so welcome.
My yard is exploding in bloom later as spring has been colder and wetter, which is a fine thing for the water bill. Truly, I am so enjoying the overcast, the soft and steady rains, and the darting of all the birds ducking under the metal covers to peck at seed and suet.
My god what a spring.
The gift this year is that like it or not, for me to be able to do what I want next year I have to tolerate being down this year. As someone frankly addicted to adventure, the challenge is to find adventure in staring at the dense grove of trees which surround my house in all directions but the street. There, I have no windows at all (thank you house designer). All my windows face out into Nature.
Sun has always been a questionable issue here but far more so in the last several decades. While I moved here for the rain- not like Fort Lauderdale just got this week but most assuredly the kind of rain we've had this spring- I've not taken a chance to genuinely enjoy it.
I am too busy being too damned busy.
Now I can't be busy. What a gift.
We do get what we need, albeit we may not always recognize it at the time.
Just below my bedroom window, the deep waxy green leaves of the many camellia bushes are giving way to fat buds which will result in generous pink blooms:
Spring unfolds in such a different way from fall, and its lessons are also so different. My yard surprises me endlessly with new flowers I didn't know I had (okay, and new weeds, too).
Without the ability to lug all my boxes back upstairs and re-inhabit my house, I get to sit.
Without the ability to head out any time I like, I get to just sit.
Read, watch nature.
It's still cold enough for a fire, which I can still manage, and which is an absolute joy. My fireplace insert is the kind which does a superb job of limiting the pollution from the burning so I feel okay about using it. When I don't use that, I put a fireplace YouTube video onto my laptop for comfort. Works at night to help me sleep on that couch, too.
Several weeks ago I was in the Jedediah Smith National Forest in the Stout Grove being reminded of how I was already in my dream house. What on EARTH is the purpose of having the dream house if you don't inhabit it?
So now I have months of being able to watch the immensely slow but gorgeous march of Nature as she repaints my grounds. Rebuilds my wounds.
The rhodies I planted last year along my property line exploded this week. All the new maples I planted are budding and greening. My dogwood is still sleeping, but that bright sun is going to drag her out to dance.
And I have more than I can count of these:
I've already finished four books. Completely forgot how gorgeous it is to settle into a comfy couch and consume damned good writing hours and hours on end. I have to; my foot has to stay above my heart or else it screams, and frankly, all the work it takes to get into and out of the tub without accident can be tiring to a body that has been repeatedly insulted with the knife.
We're not done, either; my right hand just developed a nasty painful cyst like the left, and damn it, here we go again. Rest is called for. My body is having a conversation with me, and I am listening.
Took me long enough.
Also still using the dumbells, and I will intregrate more workouts, stretches and weight work as I can. This time around I get to do it slowly. Hell I have to; braces on both hands, a boot on one foot, moving around on a scooter and my left foot still plenty sore.
That's very much out of my comfort zone. I like to blaze forward.
My foot doctor made it clear: one more full year before my newly-repaired and better-than-ever dogs can be asked to hike, bike, strike out again. One full year before no more pain when I stand up and walk. What a gift in the meantime. No blazing for most of this year.
It's quite an adventure letting Nature do the blazing right now, like that two-fisted sun.
For a few moments yesterday it lit up every single dewdrop, every raindrop and every bit of mist in the Japanese maple, where all the birds are busy feasting.
My world was full of diamonds.
From my quiet couch I can read, write, compose, research. And I can also heed the invitation to do what I did in the redwood grove: sit still. Do my best to align with the incredibly slow pace (by comparison) of Nature, doing what it does every year.
I'm not promised a perfectly-functioning body at the end of this. I am not promised next year. I am not promised tomorrow any more than you are. I'm not even promised an hour from now.
But this promise I am determined to keep: so long as I have this house, so long as I am given this time, so long as I have this gift, juggling pain or not, I am going to honor the fact that I gave myself this gift: the house, the fireplace, the woods and access to the beach. Beach can wait.
Spring is now.
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