Have any of you hit the proverbial wall? I just turned
sixty. I realize that for some this is not old. I take care of myself, but on
top of on-going medical issues for decades and the occasional health crisis, I
was in a multi-vehicular accident in 1998 as well as a train wreck thirteen
years ago. I am not lazy. I am bone weary.
I cook supper from scratch three days a week, usually
something from my small farm is in the main dish. Two nights a week, other
members of my family cook and some nights we have leftovers. My husband made
fajitas from scratch yesterday, because I was out and about with my two
youngest grandchildren and one of my adult children.
Since I recently was hired part-time at an office, my
husband does his own laundry. He'd do mine, but after a mishap with some dress
pants in the drier, I said I can handle my own clothes washing. I do the farm
chores. He does the mowing. My youngest daughter helps when she can. The work
is pretty evenly distributed. I feel blessed.
Then there are some days I just cannot drag myself out of
bed. I hurt that bad. Then I feel guilty because: rain, snow or sunshine,
animals are dependent upon their human caretakers. I refuse to take painkillers
because I'd be even more useless.
I keep plugging along. Yes, I take time to rest, create, get
a massage to stretch what's become locked into place. Somehow I do it
"With a Little Help from My Friends" as Sgt. Pepper would say.
I take time every summer evening to pick the Japanese
beetles off of our fruit trees and bushes. It's like meditation to me. I take
time to ponder and breathe deeply. I am dedicated to this lifestyle. Sometimes
I'm treated to a flock of turkeys marching through my yard, or a herd of deer
making their way in and out of the woods.
Birdsong greets me in the morning. I listen to the cries of
a couple of hawks during the day and the calls of owls and quail at night.
Twice a year my taxes go up. That's stressful. My township
changes the zoning and handbook frequently— less animals, more subdivisions.
That stresses me out. We no longer have agricultural land where I live. All
blueberry fields are now designated rural residential. The ten-acre horse farm
down the street got a rude awakening last year.
Last week my doctor put me on diabetes medication so now I
feel EXHAUSTED. Also, I doubt that the recommended guidelines for how many
carbohydrates a sixty-year-old woman is allowed to have take into consideration
people like me. I’m not sitting in front of a TV all day ironing and folding
laundry, eating potato chips and sweeping the crumbs off of the towels before I
stack them in the linen closet. Sometimes several days go by before I even go
upstairs into the loft to sit down to catch up on a couple shows.
Then last night, there was a tick IN MY BED. With the exception of my housecats, I do not allow
any animals on my bed, indoor or outdoor. How that little sh!t bug got in my bed, I do not know. I've encountered
ticks before (more and more frequently as the years go by) and I deal with
them. This was different. My bed is my sanctuary where I can finally begin to
unwind.
After my daughter got the little eight-legged vampire off of
me, I had a meltdown. This morning, after I fed the animals, I went back
inside, crawled under the covers and rested. It’s now late afternoon. I still
have to clean coops and hutches. I still want to get some fresh air and walk my
dog. . . but I have shut down in every way. I want to care, but suddenly I JUST
DON'T! I want to move away from ticks. I want to relax with just my dog in some
city far away from farm animals, orchards, gardens and most of all, ticks.
That little bloodsucking demon was my last straw this
weekend. I have hit the wall -- and it isn't pretty.
(My mood today)
