run

I've been over this before. I don't enjoy it. While I do it, every step asks "why?" or whines "noooo...". But it's easy, it's accessible, and I must grudgingly admit that I'm feeling better today for it.

From house to road is 500 metres. I was up and back twice yesterday, and but for pauses at each end and caving in for a brief walk on the last stretch, I did it. 2km isn't much, but it's a start. I have no plans for entering a race, but have my own little goals. They're a secret for now, whispering excitedly in my head.

The paradox of discipline: I don't want to do it. I don't like it. I make myself do it. I complain while I do it ... but know, deep down, that the complaining is not what I need to listen to. I push through. I feel better and am better for it. And that's not just running.

sometimes

... the amount of work left to do here gets me a little down. It is, frankly, overwhelming. Never-ending. Daunting. Difficult. Physical. That's enough adjectives; you get the point.

Today, one of a series of beautiful days almost too pleasant for early April, was one of cutting unruly shrubs, bringing out patio furniture, and more cleanup. I admitted defeat in the rake search and bought another one at the hardware store (and, by so doing, ensured that I'll find the old one soon. Always works that way). The gardens - so many! - need attention. The chickens were dust bathing in my veggie garden boxes until I shooed them out. The composter is going to be moved. D very obligingly chainsawed some growth that was beyond my cutters' ability, before continuing on his way to clear more of the undergrowth along the driveway.

Inside was busy too; I changed the girls' beds, washed their quilts and the soon-to-be-shelved flannel sheets, and made up the beds with fresh cotton sheets. Four loads of laundry, all dried on the line in the sweet spring breeze, and I seem somewhat caught up. The mittens, hats and scarves were put away and the summer shoes brought out.

It is getting better, so much better than when we moved here. What a mess it was! I love it here. I wouldn't want to live anywhere else. But sometimes I get a little down about how much is left. After supper (roast beef and fries with gravy) I believe a walk to the log I sit on by the creek is in order.

I heard spring peepers last night. Remembering that fact alone is enough to give me a little lift.

It'll get better.

knowing

Sometimes I need to get my hands dirty and work, and thanks to a sunny week the girls and I have been spending afternoon time in the vegetable garden, wresting control back from the weeds. It's going well and the progress is good.

The chickens are interested in the worms and caterpillars we find, and do their own bit of scratching. A decided today that pulling up a taproot (often mispronounced "taperoot" which at least beats "tapeworm" that she kept slipping to say earlier) was a satisfying thing. Almost half of the boxes have been tidied, though the remaining ones look to have the most work required, and some of the boxes themselves need repairing. Lots done, lots more to do.

But sometimes I need to leave things alone. Like the ladybug that crawled across my keyboard with the large tuft of dust on its back like a flag or some ungainly cargo. I tried to gently wipe it off but he (she? no idea) would have none of my help. I could have forced the issue, I guess, but I think the world would have been one less ladybug for it.

Knowing the difference can be obvious ... but sometimes it's hard to be sure which is the right thing to do. No answer to that today, just a thought prompted by the wanderings of the dustybug.

not alone

yesterday's thought...

To realize that we are not alone on life's journey is both a gift and a responsibility.

today's expansion (as my thoughts do tend to evolve as I ponder them, turn them over in my mind)...

There are people we pass on life's journey, faces appearing out of the mist as we walk along. Some we glance at, continue on our way. Others, we reach out a hand to greet.

Some return it with a wave, and pass on. They were with us for a brief moment.

Some reach our and shake our hand politely, stay with us for a season.

But some - gift indeed! - reach out, clasp our hand in true friendship. They hold on, steadying us over rough ground. Their warm, companionable grasp reminds us that they are there when the coldness of the mist threatens us. They don't let go. They are close enough to reach over and dry our tears, or to lean on us while we shake with laughter. They see what we do and know what delights us in the scenery along the way.

How I love my fellow sojourners.

makes sense

"... I mean, my writing entertains me, but then I also like to hop randomly around the kitchen."

(filed under Things You Say to Your Spouse that, Strangely Enough, Make Sense to Him)