Monthly Archives: August 2023

THE LAST OF AUGUST

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This last day of August finds me at the keyboard again. I have a small pot of tomatoes simmering on the stove. I hope to make another quart of sauce to add to the 20 in the freezer. It is cloudy and drizzly. Any rain any time is welcomed. It is a valuable and scarce commodity nowadays for us on the prairies. It brings a bit of wetness to the dry earth. I can hear it sigh with relief. The plants drink it in, their leaves unfurling as their thirst is slaked. I feel myself loosening up, the tension leaving my body. It is a good day to drink tea, read a few pages and write a few sentences.

The day has sped by. It does that when I sloth around in my pjs till noon. I did get some reading done but not too many words written. I am inspired byNatalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones. But still I got stuck, then distracted. And time ticked away. Now I am back at the keyboard. It’s hard to pick up where I had left off. Meanwhile, I’m simmering my second pot of tomatoes as the first one did not fill a quart jar. I kind of left it simmering too long. It got very thick and a little too well done. I shall pay more attention with the present one on the stove.

The way is never easy or smooth, no matter the intention, no matter what it is that you are doing. There’s wrinkles, hiccoughs and delays. I think I’m ok with stuttering, hiccoughing as long as I am not stuck and inert in some deep dark hole. I’ve been there too many times. Now I’m done with it. I’ve climbed out and ready to walk away. Burnt tomato sauce is better than no tomato sauce.

I’m savouring the aroma of tomatoes saucing, the last bit of August. We enjoyed the Blue August Moon last evening before going to bed. It was wondrous and awesome. Life is ok.

PRACTICING

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The second day of the rest of my life finds me here at my keyboard. I’m practicing what I’ve been talking about doing – writing daily. I try not to think too hard and fast and just write from what pops into my head. My head is multi-tasking this morning. It is skipping from one thought to another. It makes it hard to sit and stay here. I had to get up from time to time, do a little of this and a little of that. There’s a pot of little cherry tomatoes simmering on the stove. I’ve paid the bills online. I made a cup of tea and had a walk in the back and front yard gardens. I’m feeling a little more settled.

I’ve discovered that the Sweet One Million cherry tomatoes make excellent tomato sauce. I am sure I have about a million of them. I’ve been giving them away but they keep producing, ripening and piling up on the dining room table. They’re good attraction for those damn fruit flies when they get over ripe. That’s how they ended up in the pot this morning. There’s only so many I can put in salads or just pop into my mouth. I’ve also discovered it is much less labour intensive cooking up a small batch of sauce at a time. Smaller batch, smaller pot, smaller cleanup. I am a happy camper.

Small anything and everything is good when I am starting up. A small practice every day will get better. That small can get bigger with practice. There’s no right or wrong way, no good or bad time. It just have to work for you. And you find what works or doesn’t work by doing. I’m not looking for magic nor am I trying to write a great novel. I love the tap, tap of the keyboard. I rather tap out all the mess that’s circling in my head onto the screen. I’m just trying to stay sane.


A PRACTICE

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It’s 4 o’clock in the afternoon. It’s hot out at 32℃. I’m cranky. It’s not a good time to start anything but here I am doing it anyways. If I wait for an optimal time, I would not get anything done. Yesterday I harvested herbs (basil, oragano and thyme) to dry at high noon when it was the hottest. That and being late August with mature plant growth does not make for the best harvest to dry either. But it is the time when I’m moved to do it. And that makes it the best time for me.

Right now, in my grouchy sweaty mood, I’m moved to start a daily practice of writing – again. I’m inspired by Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones. When inspiration and perspiration hit, I must act, if not immediately, soon. I should have started this morning but I had another daily practice of going to the garden(s) and harvesting. It’s hard to juggle everything. I had to choose the best time for each. Morning would be optimal to be working outside on a hot day. I can write afternoons in the cool of the house.

So why am I torturing myself this way? For one thing, I do love words and writing. It has been my way of staying sane, sorting out the chaos in my head. It is a physical act as well as mental. It is stress relieving. The rhythmic tapping soothes and smooths the kinks in my mind. It is also good discipline. I’m heeding Goldberg’s advice of not overthinking, over editing, censoring. I will let it all out – within reason and good taste, of course. This is another first day of the rest of my life.

STARTING OVER

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It feels like I’ve been in a slump forever now. I remember a time when I was impatient to get to sleep at night. I was eager to wake up to another spanking, sparkling new day. I want that feeling back but it is hard to come by. It’s not that I lack things to do. I always have many interests and many things to do. Now they don’t spark the joy that Marie Kondo likes to talk about. So what to do? Say goodbye to them?

I think about starting over, changing things, changing myself every day. But where and when to start? That’s a stumper. I’m stuck before I could begin. Then I think, I’ll start tomorrow. That’s how it is again today. I do get fed up with myself eventually. Shame does nudge and push me. Dissatisfaction is the greatest motivator for me. I just wish that I could spend less time in the wasteland of inertia. I wish I could be more decisive quicker. But if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

At least I am plunking down a few words bit by bit here today. I’m making an effort. I am doing the best I can. I have to be satisfied with that. Though I feel heavy, ploddy and not exactly full of joy, I don’t think I appear so. I am not sitting on my duff. I am holding up my end of being alive. I get up, dress up and show up no matter what. Anything extra is heroic, don’t you think?

I will think of doing some extra heroic stuff daily. They don’t have to be big but they can be. I defrosted, cleaned and organized the chest and stand up freezers yesterday. That’s very big for me. Writing this post is fairly big. I’m trying to wake up my brain. It’s been in a fog for too long.

Postscript: I wrote the above a few days ago. I think I’m over my slumpy mood – for now anyways. I feel a bit of a spring in my steps. The sun and heat might have helped. And to think I was not a fan of heat before. Things can change. Anything is possible.

RAINY DAY CHATTER

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These days I feel like we’ve reached the end of the line. We’re stuck in this mess we’ve created for ourselves. There’s no forward to go to. I feel there is no hope. Maybe it is just the rainy grey day chatter in my head. Once upon-a-not-so-long-ago, I remember going to bed eager for the next morning to dawn. That feeling is hard to come by now. But I am not the type of person who falls into a dark pit and stay there. I do complain. No, it is not complaining but rather voicing my discomforts. Isn’t that what is advocated – speaking your mind? Isn’t it better to bring things to light than to let them fester in the dark? If we know and can acknowledge what is amiss, maybe we can fix it.

I know that is the right route but it hasn’t always work out for me. Not everyone feels that way. Not everyone is ready to hear what is amiss. Doing the ‘right thing’ can be a lonesome road to travel. And I have been there many times on that lonely stretch of highway. There’s not a thing I could do but carry on. I’ve come to the end of the day. It hasn’t gotten better but it hasn’t been worse. The rain had been light but clouds and gloom persisted. Then it became night. The world feels cold and eery. I still carry, one foot in front of the other.

The world feels too heavy. I feel disconnected, disorganized and disfunctional. I did what I could. As always I console myself with tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow I will do better. I will look for that light at the end of the tunnel.

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MORNING WRITING AND MUSING

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Writing is hard to do these days. I’ve been sitting on this one sentence for days now. I should know by now words don’t write themselves and conversations don’t start on their own. There has to be some initiative, effort, desire and work for success in anything. So here I sit, on this sunny Sunday, working to find some meaningful words.I shall take the morning to relax and explore my way back to them. Life lately has been a blur of gardening, harvesting and processing our crops. It’s hard to stop but I shall try.

I’m missing the sun of early summer days when the world was lit at 5ish in the morning. Now it is still dark at 6. At least we have bright clear sunshine today. No clouds or smoke and the sun is not a fiery red. It was a cool 6℃ out but the sun made it nice and warm in the sunroom. I was able to leave the blinds opened and watch the sun dance on the walls.

In the life before the Internet, Facebook and Intagram, my mornings usually start off with breakfast of toast and tea and listening to CBC radio. That was on my days off from work at the hospital. On my work days, I was up before 6. I would feed Sheba (my dog) and then take her out for a walk. I did not have breakfast but make a big mug of tea and head out for work at 7 for my 7:30 shift. I would have breakfast on my morning coffee break. Thinking about it now, I wonder if I could skip the morning scrolling on my devices and listen to the radio instead. I’m tired of being bombarded by courses to improve myself and my life. What instead of reading about it, I just do the work?

Meanwhile, I am working hard with my growing spaces. I’m learning by doing, experimenting, making mistakes, etc. What if I apply that to other areas of my life? What if I just do the work instead of collecting data on how to? I’m opened to being surprised.

IN BLACK AND WHITE

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I really should go to bed but I am here, tapping out a few words and thoughts. I really shouldn’t be enjoying a cup of tea. I’ll be up to the bathroom a few times during the night. But I am thirsty and seeking a bit of comfort. It’s goiji berry tea. I’ll be good for me. In times past, Sheba always kept company with me. My fur baby’s been gone for 3 years now. I have to wing these times on my own, without her soft animal body close by.

Life, I should really say I feels strange these days. It’s a sense of detachment, unachored and maybe a little unhinged. It feels like being underwater. There’s no sound. No one can hear or see me. It’s like the sound of one hand clapping. So I come here to be seen and heard, to put my thoughts and feelings down in black and white.

Perhaps I’m feeling melancholic after reading Doris Lessing’s The Grass is Singing. I’m identifying with the female character, Mary and her tragic life. Though it is set in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), it could easily have been in my small Saskatchewan hometown. Our lives were small and limited. I have more sense of it now than before. I’m not sure if it’s true or not but it does make me sad. It will pass when the book fades from my body’s memory. Sad is not always bad. It is restful.

Now I can take myself to bed. My tea is finished. I’ve put away a few things so I can have a good start in the morning. I have to pay bills, bake bread and clean house. Those are my priorities. Then I need to make a trip to our community garden. Someone has been stealing our carrots! Why do people do that?

THERE’S ALWAYS TOMATOES, BEANS AND TOMORROW

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I haven’t made too much progress with life. I am still mired up to my eyeballs with things to do. August is a month of bounty. Our gardens are in full production. A casual stroll through the home garden and greenhouse can yield a bucket of tomatoes, cucumbers, bitter melons and peppers. A trip to our city allotment could bring back pails of beans. Thankful that the peas are done and processed. I’m happy that the snow peas at our community garden plot are also done. I still have a batch in the fridge to process.

I’m really not complaining. Having this much produce is a good problem. But I am feeling a little squished for energy. I don’t have much time to sit and contemplate my navel. There’s not much time for reading . It is all very good. I do have purpose. The house is a mess. The dining room table is full odds and ends and tomatoes waiting to be sauced or eaten. It’s nothing to feel stressed and bad about. I do the things with deadlines. I stop worrying about the rest. I don’t have time to be bored or depressed. If I do, there’s always tomatoes and beans to be processed. And of course, there’s always tomorrow.

It is well into the evening and time for bed. But it is good for my mental health to make a little time to capture some thoughts and feelings. It is a little rest and time to inhale, exhale and say good night. Sweet dreams.

HOW IT IS

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It seems I’ve been absent from here for many a days. Time seems to slip away faster and faster, like at the end of a toilet paper roll. I get a lot of things done but I can’t seem to get organized or set priorities. Life seems like a huge jumble mess – much like my dining room table. I haven’t changed much. Every evening before bed I vow to do better the next day because the end of the day is not a good time to start anything. So far it hasn’t worked out. It is not going to work out. So here I am, in late evening, starting, changing and hoping for some success.

I’ve already had a small measure of it. I’ve paid 2 bills that are due tomorrow. It wasn’t so hard. It didn’t take long. It takes longer and is more complicated thinking about them. That is something to remember. Just do it. Now that I’ve done it, I feel better and can go to bed. I’ve made a change and a new start. Tomorrow is another day.