The Friday morning sunshine streams in the picture window that faces the southeast. I’ve been trying to take some time to sit in the sun on sunny mornings. I’ve heard tell that it is good for a person. Especially in these months. I don’t think it’s doing much besides making me lazy. I feel almost addicted to this morning siesta. Almost grumpy if I don’t have time or there is no sunshine. I’ve been trying to talk Our Girl Audrey into try it. She sniffs in the way that is characteristic of her when she doesn’t believe a single thing I’m saying and has no intentions of changing her views. Sometimes I get her to come out and sit in the one chair and she looks the whole time like I’ve asked her to eat brussel sprouts. Shifts around, acts put upon, and finally will say, “S’alrigh’ f’I go fee’ a birze?” (Is it alright if I go feed the birds?”) or “S’alrigh’ f’I go my roo’?” (Is it alright if I go to my room?) or some other such thing that will release her from sitting quietly in the sunshine.
I’m not sure why she resists it so much. I’m of the opinion that it isn’t so much that she doesn’t like to sit still as she thinks that it isn’t right for me to sit still. She thinks I ought to be doing something productive.
She’s a little like my Daddy on that score. He liked nothing better than to see his wife or his children working really, really hard. “Hard work never killed anybody,” he would say with conviction and his characteristic grin. Well, he wasn’t right on that score, but he really did believe it until the day he died. And though I am forever grateful for the things I was taught, I believe that some of the things that were instilled in me as a child makes it difficult to feel worthy when I’m unproductive. Not all of that is bad, though. Our society could surely use a few more people who believe in the therapeutic value of hard work. (She says as she sits on her chair in the sun!)
I wonder if part of my current lethargy isn’t that there is so much to do that I don’t feel like starting. Some people say they don’t know where to start. I know where to start, for sure, but I just don’t feel like starting. Taxes to organize and divide into columns and write down, computer room to clean, (AGAIN!) book work for the casemanager, red Christmas bows to take off the upper deck railing . . . I should probably start by just getting dressed. I’m getting company at eleven.
The one thing that makes me want to sit on my chair is a painful cold sore. I usually can head these things off at the beginning, but I think this one had every intention of turning into a plum size production. My faithful applications of Abreva have made it more manageable, but I’m really tired of the ugly thing. There has been some stress in my life (no kidding!) but it is very unusual for me to get a cold sore. When I got to evaluating the different things that have been going on, a sudden memory flew up into my conscious thought. Aha! This might be Certain Man’s fault!
Whenever Certain Man and I were expecting a baby, about the time the baby was due, he would come down with a mean looking cold sore. I would sometimes worry that it was big enough to keep him out of the delivery room when the baby was born. (It never did– I was just paranoid.) It really did happen every time, if I recall correctly. Now he’s the one that is headed for major surgery, so the other night I told him that it was my turn to get the cold sore. I’m not so much worried about how things will turn out. I am glad that this is available for him. But I feel really, Really, REALLY sympathetic when I think of the hard work ahead of him — and the confinement of the first weeks, and yes, the pain. Though it probably isn’t worse than what he is experiencing now, it is a different kind of pain. Certain Man does not do well with pain or confinement. Hard work is a different story entirely. And that drive he has for working beyond what most humans consider possible will stand him in good stead when it comes to therapy. In the desire for this to “just be over” I keep reminding myself that lots of good living lies between now and when he has surgery. I don’t want to waste this!
That being said, I guess I better get along and get ready for my visitors. Blind Linda’s mother and her two sisters are coming “to talk.” No explanation given, but this family has been the most supportive and kind and generous natural family that we’ve ever worked with. So, while there are some heavy things that we may need to discuss, I look forward to the exchange. And then, maybe I will feel like getting started on one of the several projects that are reproachfully staring me in the face. Besides, the sun won’t shine on my chair much longer, so I’m left without reason to linger.
Blessed weekend, everyone. It wouldn’t hurt for more people to sit in the sun.