Sprummer Days/Daze

It’s Sprummer here on the Row. That’s the odd fifth season between spring and summer, where one day it’s 94 degrees, and the next day it’s 32 and snaining, and the next day it’s 88 with gale-force winds that twist my prayer flags around a tree.

Pretzel "Trouble" MacTier 

 

Last weekend, though, we had a windless day in the 70s, so Ray and I (mostly Ray) put in the garden. It was another year when we said, “Let’s minimize this year,” then we took out a home equity loan to pay for all the seeds, plants, and supplies we ended up buying. We planted enough tomatoes to roast, can, eat, and give away. We planted enough cucumbers to supply ourselves, the Food Pantry, everyone I know, and still have some to leave (anonymously) in open car windows. Plus peppers, herbs, and baskets of flowers.

Mom’s fairy garden is doing great, with bergenia, hydrangea, and bearded iris, and we planted a calla lily, daffodils, and star flowers in another flower bed for her. Two of her good bridge buddies (one just had her 100th birthday) stopped by with a garden spinner, which we put out in front so they could see it and remember Mom whenever they drive by.

I’ve been sorting through Mom’s things, dispersing little sentimental treasures to the kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids. Her room still smells like her, and I’ll admit I sometimes just sit in there. It gets easier day by day, though now it seems like she’s been away on vacation, and it’s been long enough—I’m ready for her to come home.

This past week, I went to the Really Big City, my hometown, to visit my dad, who recently moved from the hospital after a fall, to a nursing home. Dad is living with late-stage prostate cancer that’s spread to his bones, so he’s in constant pain. In spite of that, we had good visits, and he was surprisingly cheerful. He’s told me over the years about his “covenant with Jesus” to live to 100. So on this visit, we had a good chuckle over being a little more careful about what one wishes for.

I also got to see my childhood friend, who lives in New York. She and I have been friends since we were 4, when we would call to each other (in our best mourning dove coos) from our front porches after dinner, so we could come back out and play till the streetlights came on. We had brunch, and we laughed over what we remembered and what we’ve forgotten. It was a sweet, too-rare reunion. She was back in the old hometown for her sister’s funeral.

Speaking of yet…another…funeral…, I believe people can handle most tragedies, traumas, losses, and changes, so long as they have time in between—time to process, heal, get help if needed. It’s the pile-ups that’ll get you. Since the first of this year, we’ve lost Mom, Dad’s moved into the final setting & stage of his life, our oldest dog Yogi is dying of cancer, and we’ve lost five friends/acquaintances/community members. Ray and I both retired, our bones are achier, conversations with each other and others now include everyone’s maladies and procedures (we swore we’d never be THOSE people), and we’re all on Covid alert—again. And Uvalde, again and again and again.

So although I’m waking up from the surrealistic past few months of caring for Mom, when I operated on what Mom called “head down, plow forward” momentum, I think I’m feeling the pile-up now. For me, it manifests in extreme fatigue regardless of how much sleep I get and an urge to hermit.

My first best friend

Dad 

But I also think you can weather a pile-up if you have/give yourself/make yourself things to look forward to. And here on this beautiful Sprummer day, the hummingbirds and orioles are back, our Little Town public pool is open and water-walking in the lazy river can commence, the garden is in, and the kids and grandkids are healthy and amazing. We have a sweet, wild puppy to train, and we also have some family & travel plans this summer. So I’ll double up on my B-12 and get back out there in the world. Just after a little nap…

Sprummer Chic