It is Tuesday morning, a day off. Funny how I still think of days off when I’m retired. Those words have been a part of my vocabulary for so many years. You get two nurses together, the conversation mostly sounds like this: Are you on days off? Did you sleep? Of course that was in my days. I’m not sure about the young nurses talk nowadays.

So, I’m on a day off. I don’t have to head off to aerobics or swimming. I have no MUSTS to do, except….I have been saying for days I MUST get my shit together, tidy up, dust up and file up. Now that the day is here that I could do all these things, I just want to sit here, in my beautiful room and languish. Both big windows are opened. The sun is streaming in. It’s early enough for a cool breeze. A bird is chirping. I wonder if it’s the one nesting in the grape vines.

It’s been awhile since I’ve just sat in peace, not wanting to do. I relax the furrows between my eyes. How wonderful to feel the release of tension. I do not mind the clutter and bit of dust on my desk. I sip my tumeric tea as I gaze at the sun dancing on the magnolia and amaryllis. They need some water soon. Out the window, I can see Sheba laying in her hollowed out dirt bed beside the potted avocado. She is happy and cool, watching and listening to the birds in the yard. I will finish my tea and head out to weed a little. I’m getting back to the rhythm of ‘doing little blocks’. They add up like drops filling a bucket.

It is now 3 o’clock in the afternoon. I spent 2 hours in the yard and garden, weeding and harvesting. Perhaps I overdid. Now I am not only languishing but wilting a bit.  It is warm but I’m still getting a breeze through the windows. The birds are still chirping back and forth to each other. Sheba is languishing in the diningroom. She threw up twice today so maybe a light supper.

Can’t say I have climbed any mountains or vanquished any villains today. Haven’t even had time for any crime reading. Nothing much to show except some rhubarb stalks on the kitchen island and fewer weeds in the garden. Oh, yes, I’ve filled the raised beds in the back with rainwater. A good day. Now back to languish with my cup of tea.


I surely struggle with consistency and energy. I suppose you do, too. It’s always good to have company. It’s my words I’m struggling with now. But I’ve come to my space. The keyboard is on my lap, my cup of tea nearby. Across the back alley, the roofers are tap, tap,tapping with their hammers. They sound like woodpeckers. A crow caws nearby.

It’s a perfect August day. The sun shining. The petunias and nasturiums nodding their heads in the breeze. I shall just sit here and not worry so much about accomplishing and doing. It is trying that I can’t quite get my shit together. But really, what does that mean anyways? Oh brother, Sheba is next to me. She’s just let go some of her metal-melting farts. Phew!

I’m feeling like hell in the mornings,  waking with aching in every possible joint – down to the toes. I just know that autumn is in the air even if I didn’t know what month it is. Changes are coming. Changes are here. Some of it’s scary. A lot of it is frightening – neo-Nazis, White Supremacists, Donald Trump, neighbours… The list is long. It’s good to ventilate, even if it is just listing. At least I’ve identified some of the things nagging at me. I’m not just whistling in the dark.

I have pushed my way through the wet paper bag. I’ve broken free. Despite my fatigue, I’ve trimmed off the dead raspberry canes, gathered up some other garden wastes and deposited them all in the Green Bin. The City truck has kindly come by. I’ve dumped a bag of peat moss in the front flower bed. I hope that will give the petunias there a much needed boost.

The hammering is getting more insistent – and annoying. It’s not conducive to my tapping any more. It’s giving me a headache. It’s a sign to close shop. I think I work best in short spurts. I just need to have more spurts in a day.