Except, I sort of forget about the one-armed part. And the stroke= easily exhausted part.
Since early spring, I’ve started every morning with this gung-ho attitude.
It’s August, “Uncle!”
My family, the Cobbs, have always been prone to driven, single-minded focus. My dad was the king of obsessive problem-solving. The quest often took over his life.
I do it.
My son shows definite signs.
My sister is worse.
Every day since it got hot, I have been in the garden by 7 o’clock planting, harvesting, and watering, while singing tunes from the musicals ‘Oklahoma!’ and ‘The Sound of Music’ in my tone-deaf, screechy voice. Enjoying myself. Mostly.
By 9 o’clock the heat cranks up. I load my wagon with more cucumbers and tomatoes than any family could possibly consume. I fill jelly jars with bouquets of zinnias, sunflowers and attractive weeds. By this time I’m usually stumbling a bit.
Pulling my load toward the house, my left foot drags across the gravel too spent for proper steps. I mutter to myself, “You should have quit much earlier, Vic.”
On the front deck, cold well-water refreshes memomentarily when I hose off my muddy feet and sandals.
My upright arrival at the house is always a blessing.
Another small triumph. This one tinged with that wrung- out exhaustion of body and spirit that accompanies over-exertion
Luckily, I can usually take a nap or sit down and read as long as I want, putting off other activity until after naptime.
Jack and I have decided to take a break from the local farmers market for at least a few weeks so I can chill- out.
Even Wonder Woman needs to go to the island once in a while.