I am in a writing world, largely motionless. No inspiration here. Instead, I have been occupying myself with little things.
Dishes, and floors and weeds.
My sister and nephew are coming on Friday. With a little daily work, the home can present well.
And, while I knock out each task, I re-arrange my thoughts.
How to complete the book? What is stopping me, now?
These last few days, more than a week, I am outward looking. I have turned to re-arranging my physical world, and it’s a lesson on my latest state.
Every so often, two or three times per year, these last couple. My strength rebounds. And I tackle things I could only dream of, the week before.
In the yard, I am installing a garden, designed to feed me vegetables through summer. In Tempe, the challenge is the extreme heat, typically in the 117-119 Farenheits range, at peak. I am only planting warm-weather crops, with which I have enjoyed success in previous years.
Swiss chard is surprisingly stout under the summer sun. I have them, twice paired, with collard greens and hollyhocks, in one grouping.
In two others, I am planting okra, together with cantaloups, cucumbers and three squashes. Zucchini, acorn, and kabocha.
Since the vines typically wither by July on their own, they will hang out, this year, under a lady-finger shade.
I still intend to pick up a yam and a sweet potato from the grocery store. Cut some pieces, to sprout new vines, while eating the rest.
But, I’m unsure about something.
Is this latest bit of ambition temporary? Or, can I make it permanent? I decided last week to tackle the disorganization and dirt surrounding me. Get the dirt out of the house, and organize the it in the yard.
I broke it down to simple tasks, like watering, and digging. Watering is an easy, daily activity. Digging depends on energy, So I bounce between the couch and the garden, throughout the day.
Dig, then lay down. Then dig some more, followed by another rest.
Thank goodness, these past ten years, for all the done-digging. Keeping it loose and easy.
Well, the shovel-work and planting is now largely finished, until fall. Next, I can vacuum and sweep and mop. Tomorrow through Friday.
The strategy is working, but, will it remain stable when I go back to writing? Can I do all three, in some measure, each day? Can I write, and still find the mental energy to also take care of my surroundings?
Although I am dealing with muscles at low strength, this challenge seems more mental, than anything.
It should be doable.
Forays in the garden.
Swiss chard, collard greens, and hollyhock.
Seeds in damp soil, warmed by the sun.
Okra waits for morning.
=== 6:52 PM ===
XB Ooh. I just snagged the writing table.
I love its suitability.
I’m surprised I am here this late. But, only as I would have expected this day-to-play. After a couple of blah-days, I could feel an energy, even as I lay in bed, this morning. Perfect-days often beckon, in this manner.
And yes, I was achy. But, not active achy.
Past achy. On its way out.
And I was mindful again of food. I squeezed a lemon into water. Drank that, as my morning quench.
Then I picked some tomatoes from the garden.
These were planted in late September. They matured into December, setting lots of heavy, green fruit. And there it stayed, waiting for the days, to warm enough for red.
A few started turning in late January.
But, in a Tempe-February, spring is very apparent. Weeds and peach blossoms. In another month, we’ll be in full citrus-bloom.
And the tomatoes know it. There’s a bunch of big red fruits on those eighteen plants. Six cherry, six Champion, six Celebrity. Every day I eat as many as I want.
Wen Ling kept asking me why I planted eighteen?
Because. Every day I eat as many as I want. Three, four, even five, big ones. And another half-dozen cherries, as snacks.
This is the perfect time of year. I can keep the windows and doors open, with temps so pleasant. And when I get hungry, I just stroll into the back yard, through weeds, and look for the reddest ones.
A little sea-salt. Yum.
And, dessert is blood-orange. Studied, then picked.