|Chapter 32: In which I just chill
||[Jun. 25th, 2012|11:37 am]
Naturally, the first time I decide to skip Celtic Fling, the weather was, for central PA in late June, lovely. Those of you who went, YOU’RE WELCOME. The sacrifices I make for you people…..|
On the other hand, I got to relax a little, go to bed early, write a bit, read, weed and prune like a crazyperson, once again ensuring that my name remains at the very top of the list of our yard waste pick-up worker’s hate list. (Actually, they don’t hate me. I was in the yard once, last season, when they came to pick up, and of course, I had a tower of bundled branches/shrubbery and several bags, so, I’m an old school WASP and not comfortable with people doing menial labor for me, so I apologized for the quantity. And the two guys laughed, one said “You’re the lady with SO much, but always very neat and proper, thank YOU.” It’s true, my bundles are regulation, tightly wrapped and easy to pick up…oh, the last two, just like me!) It was neat to have a whole different set of interactions with my fellow humans – chatting up vendors at the farmer’s market, streetside conversations with neighbors, a casual dinner with the ex and his wife. All decisions were made by me, only for me.
Plus, I got to touch base with the rest of my world: cooking some fabulous food just for me, lamb steak with sautéed greens and fresh cherries…and for company, because seriously, lamb shanks and sour cherry crisp deserve company, otherwise you’re going to eat that all week long, and no matter how good it is, by day three…. Mary had a little lamb. Mere had a lot.
And my yard. Hanging out with Mommacat, watching the newly fledged robins, catbirds, grackles and cardinals fly around just the way I would fly if I were a bird – awkwardly. Moving praying mantis to parts of the garden where they’re needed, squishing undesirable bugs, spending three hours wondering what the heck is in my shirt poking me, until finally I realize that it keeps poking me in DIFFERENT places on my back, which is when I pull out the beetle, having to leave a giant patch of vines in the middle of the shrubbery, because the catbirds are nesting there, tossing worms to the Momma robin who’s back again, because she hangs out about half an arm out of reach and just stares at me until I toss her something. Then she snatches it up and is off to feed a baby. Then comes back and stares at me. At a certain point you realize that your weeding has slowed down perceptibly because you are now spending just as much time hunting bugs for the damn bird as you are pulling weeds. But that’s me – as good at being trained by animals as training them. And rendered powerless in the face of a brain the size of a chickpea telling me what to do.
I treated myself to a new deck chair. I’ve never had a…well, what my family always pronounced as “Chaise Lounge” steadfastly ignoring the actual spelling “Chaise Longue” which is French for long chair. Anyway, after spending the last several years sitting in chairs on the deck, propping my legs up on various other chairs, I thought, you know, you’re an adult, you can have a deck chair nicer than the $15 plastic ones…
So I got one and then spent a good half hour of my life trying to figure out how to sit in it. Because I couldn’t quite figure out the mechanism for extending the leg part. Which did result in a rather hilarious moment when I thought I finally got it, sat down, tried to tilt the top part backwards and lean back, only to have the whole thing fold up with me inside of it. I am my own cliché. And then I couldn’t get out of it. After a few seconds swearing and struggling, I gave up and fell onto my side, still in the damn chair and crawled out of it. Thankfully, I was then annoyed enough to FORCE the leg part flat, which apparently was all that it was waiting for.
Seriously, there are instructions on my shampoo bottle. My deck chair is far more dangerous and complicated.
But I did get to lay back, like an adult, comfortably in a real lounge chair, with a glass of wine, and a book, and admire my vegetation and wildlife. And realized that maybe that’s where some of my vacation urges come from – the idea of going someplace to relax doesn’t appeal to me nearly as much as going someplace to DO something; SEE something; explore something, learn something. I’ve carved out my little relaxation oasis right at home.