I have been a bit under the weather this week, battling a sinus infection that probably rolled in with bad weather Sunday night. The sun is shining today, and my sinuses are better. I am still moving more slowly than normal but whether this is due to the lingering effects of a massive sinus headache or just the routine purling of my own thought-processes and temperament, I have no idea.
I will at least get this post up this week, although it is already apparent that I have failed in my goal of three posts per week, one to each of three blogs. I am less inclined to fret about this than perhaps I was in bygone years, and I think this is actually to the good. A goal is something to work toward, as I recall, not a hard and fast rule, and at this stage of my life I am inclined to think that meaning simply comes from being present, rather than from branding or accounting in any market-place sense of the word. As I write that I feel brave. It will not be long before I am once again plagued with doubts. It seems to me that the doubting, the questioning, the challenging, all of them building up to communing, which must be in some way related to communicating, both with ourselves, with the world, with others.
I don't know where I am going with this. Perhaps I had better stick with the accounting.
On that front I can't say that I have accomplished much. On Sunday, I disassembled and cleaned out the coffee grinder, the first time I had done that since probably around Thanksgiving. Usually this is a monthly task, but well, sometimes even the best routines fall by the wayside.
I must admit that the quality of my espresso improved noticeably. I had avoided espresso over the last couple of weeks, mostly making Americanos, because there was a tinge of bitterness and weakness in the espresso. What a joy it was to sit in the sun Sunday morning, espresso in hand. The timing was fortuitous as that espresso was greatly appreciated on Monday when I was felled by a sinus headache so severe movement was an issue. After the first two espressos I staggered upstairs for a nap. I managed to get back down to the kitchen for an Americano in the afternoon before curling up with a book, my head cocked at just the perfect angle, the one where it did not feel like it would explode and fall to the floor, grateful for good coffee, good books, a blanket, a comfy sofa, a cat by my side. I was reading Ask Again, Yes by Mary Beth Keane, which I thoroughly enjoyed: A slow, thoughtful, and lovely novel and a read filled with characters drawn with compassion. Now I am on Brit Bennett's The Vanishing Half which has been on my stack forever. I am not yet far enough along to tell you what I think, just that I have been drawn in.
I have been feeling increasingly better since Tuesday, but I have remained in low gear. I did organize the hall linen closet, which remains somewhat bare. I need to buy new sheets for the guest bed. I need blankets as well, but I would rather knit those. There is no accounting for that. I could buy something perfectly functional for less money, and certainly less time, but that is not what interests me and what I have will do. I see no need to fill the space just because there is space to fill. As you see from the little hollow he made in the yellow cashmere throw, Moisés took a nap when I wandered away and left the door open. I also seem to have a lifetime supply of Kleenex. Somehow after the surgery to repair my broken nose, I have tended toward far less sinus congestion and Kleenex use than previously. I suppose there is a gift in everything.
The camellias began opening on Monday and the one shrub is filled with blossoms. There is another that has been struggling; it has buds but they have not yet opened and its ultimate fate is as yet undecided. I planted peas on Tuesday. I have cleaned out the herb bed in preparation for planting some sorrel and some lime balm, although I suspect it remains too cool for the balm to germinate. Other spring greens also need to go in the ground, but whether my timing is right or not is always a guess. I haven't yet settled into the groove of Tennessee gardening. But then a garden is always an experiment, a learning experience, and a reminder that much as we may prefer to pretend otherwise, we are not in control.
The sunshine and the advent of warmer temperatures seem to have sparked some kind of latent urge to clean and refresh, odd enough for me, and also an urge to sort through stuff and declutter (less unusual), as evidenced in the closet cleaning above. I cleaned the glass in the front door and the side windows, and then sat down in the living room to sort through the mail and admire the afternoon light in the entry hall. It seems like I have been fascinated with the entry hall lately, posting a couple of photos on Instagram. Perhaps I am simply in the mood for welcoming others in, inviting life in, although quite frankly I don't see that actually happening all that soon. There is something about spring however and the seasonal urge to blossom-forth I suppose.
I was talking to an acquaintance the other day, we ran into each in line at the hardware store, and she was complaining about how her son had painted his living room a color she did not like, how she hated homes where she noticed the colors of the walls, and in her opinion walls should all be neutral. This was shortly after I took the above photo. I think I smiled to myself and thought she would hate my house. That is not unusual; many people feel. they could not live with the color. Obviously I am a different sort of person. This bothers me not a whit. I should love my house, you should love yours; we should simply learn to find our commonalities and accept our differences, especially perhaps when our children disagree with us.
As I was cleaning the windows I noticed that I should really clean the window sills and the corners that stay in the shade in the winter but it is too early for that. I would clean and they would just get all nasty again after pollen season. Better to wait. The same thought occurred to me regarding some of the bedding plants. My neighbors have been out cleaning out their beds, and although I admire their industry, and their manicured and mulched beds, although I acknowledge that it all needs to be done, and chastise myself for my lack of ambition, it still feels too early to me. The nights are still too cold; creatures still take shelter, tender leaves and buds need protection. The time will be soon, but not yet. Of course what usually happens is that I think it is too early and then suddenly it is late and I feel rushed. The flower heads are still on my hydrangeas, the nuts I left on the ground have provided food for birds and squirrels. I think of myself as living in a conversation with my house, with my garden, with my place on this earth. Whatever I don't get to, Mother Nature will handle in her own way. In fact the bed which I am not going to landscape this year, where I planned to put in some buckwheat, currently looks lovely with a nice crop of lush, low growing weeds. I feel no need to disturb them at this time.
I suppose there has to be one of us in every neighborhood.
