First of all, I realize we live in the mountains with God’s critters. Love catching sights of the deer, turkey, bear, coyotes, turtles. But then, there are the hogs! Razorback hogs! As of three weeks ago, I now know how destructive feral hogs can be. They came out of the mountains at night to our little happy valley, and they feasted on grubs in our yard. They must think we have a fine restaurant. The week before Mother’s Day, we had rain, silver bars of rain. Ground was soft
Just turned 75. All is not perfect, but near enough. Doors close as you get older. With each new season, another door closes. I have no idea why I still want to open all those doors, but I do. A few of us women, no matter how dressed-up or dressed-down we are, carry huge beautiful bags. Isn’t that a strange thing to notice after church on Mother’s Day? Beautiful bags. Beautiful ladies. Beautiful bag ladies. That set me to thinking—that’s a door that hasn’t closed for any of u
I’d tried other options. Then a nurse from my doctor’s office sent me for X-rays. We were guessing until then. Sciatic nerve. Confirmation. Yes! I was not imagining this pain which ran from my lower back, down my leg. I had a nerve needing a little extra help. My thanks to Jan, Susan, and Jennifer, physical therapists. I thank you for listening to me grumble, mumble, about the pain. I told my housewife story about getting the sheets off a bed, how I must have angled my body.
My eyes shift from the thunderclouds and lightning to the ground where we have outlined flowerbeds with rocks. Rocks. I just need to be a rock. They get rained on, snowed on, peed on by dogs, and yet they stand tall and stay in place. Sometimes the world spins backwards and too fast for me, and I find myself wanting to run from noise and the unpredictability of the world. That can mean wanting space from the world, too. Oh, to become like a rock. A painted rock, a granite roc