Feeling Sick
It occurs to me on occasion that my sense of comfort with the prospect of my death may be a result of so many years of living with depression. It is not a topic that people are generally comfortable about allowing their focus.
Frankly, I long ago learned through treatment of my depression that allowing myself to fantasize my death was something I must control, essentially eliminating it from my mental processes. I am happy to report that I am able to do that successfully, with impressive results.
Nonetheless, I sense the possibility that my years of considering the concept of my death have left me with a residual peace over the prospect of my eventual demise. I will point out, however, that it holds a dramatically different frame of reference when viewed from a healthy mindset.
Yesterday, I left work a little early because the pesky cold that has been ever so slowly gaining a foothold in my poor innocent body was sapping my interest in functioning. Upon reaching the sanctity of home, I walked directly into our bedroom and curled up under the bedspread, seeking nothing except warmth, darkness, and quiet.
I noticed a passing feeling of contentedness with the idea of falling into a permanent sleep. It’s remarkable, really, to imagine such a mental reaction to the very familiar symptoms of a common cold, but in that moment of fatigue, part of me was ready to leave everything behind for good.
The mind and body are an amazing, integrated system. Part of me was stoically expending energy to maintain a normal work-week routine, defying the uninvited consequences of biological warfare being waged in my cells. After several days of slowly intensifying symptoms, my incredibly strong mental yearning for absolute rest contributed in overwhelming my resolve.
I shall spend this day at home, resting, to rebuild my energies. No doubt, doing so will reclaim the enthusiastic zest for living to which I have grown accustomed in the days since I embarked on my path toward improved mental health.
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Beautiful Days
There is something rather heartbreaking about receiving the gift of summer-like warmth on a November day, and then not feeling well enough to take advantage of it. My body is wrestling with some common cold symptoms, sapping me of most of my energy to do anything physically productive after work.
Within an hour of arriving home, the daylight is fading fast, leaving a rather small window of time to tend to outdoor projects.
With my body feeling achy and my eyes stinging, I was more interested in curling up on the couch, than going outside to take advantage of the beautiful day. I did, however, step out to capture an image of sun’s last moments on our horizon.
I could hear the buzzing hum of our neighbor’s mower, which poked at my already sensitive moping over wishing I had the gumption to be out doing similar such chores around our house.
Looks like I should have one last chance this afternoon, and then our temperatures plunge back to the realities of November. At least chilly weather won’t make me feel as bad about convalescing under a blanket in the living room.
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Comes Around
Last year, when I was home full-time, I often looked forward to the moment when Cyndie would arrive home from work and cruise up the driveway where she could see the results of my day’s effort on some project or another. Of course, this only worked if she made it home before dark, which is a tough thing to do during the period when the sun sets before 5:00 in the afternoon.
Sadly, more often than not, I would need to prompt for some feedback, and the response tended to reveal that she hadn’t noticed a thing. After the long commute, just reaching the driveway safely becomes the primary milestone of note, which tends to swamp the senses and blur specific details that may have been noteworthy.
Yesterday, after I pulled up the driveway, I did see the horses grazing in the hay-field nearby, but after that, pretty much a blur. I found Delilah waiting on the other side of the door, as I walked into the house, but no Cyndie. After a wonderfully happy greeting from our dog, I watched her move to the doors beside the fireplace which provide a view beyond our deck to the back yard hill that slopes down to the labyrinth garden.
With no leaves on the trees, it was easy to spot Cyndie pushing the reel mower on the path of the labyrinth. Delilah anxiously followed her master’s every move in the distance. That dog really bonds with the person who is home with her all day.
When Cyndie eventually made her way back up to the house, she promptly asked me how the place looked when I pulled in.
Busted.
I hadn’t noticed all the work she had labored to accomplish on her own while I was away. I felt awful to have missed it, and I gained a new appreciation for what it was like for her last year, before our roles became reversed.
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Send Love
Over the weekend we learned of friends whose long-term relationship is in crisis. As disorienting as it certainly is for them, Cyndie and I were knocked for a loop ourselves. It quickly became the focus of our thoughts. We wanted to help in any way possible, but beyond offering unconditional support, we cannot solve their problems for them.
That doesn’t prevent us from wishing that we could.
We’ve been there. We know that life on the resolution side of dealing with crises holds potential for innumerable possibilities. To get there, the path requires dealing with the darkness and trauma of immediate difficulties, while simultaneously allowing space for the manifestation of yet-to-be-imagined better outcomes to be had.
It is a matter of maintaining an understanding that the most trying challenges are not as all-encompassing as they can seem in the moment. The emotions we experience are very real, and though powerful they may be, emotions simply hold information to help us find our way. They do not constrain all aspects of the matter at hand.
The reality of situations is not limited to the way we are feeling in any given moment.
We have to heal ourselves and we have to heal our relationships. It may be hard to accept, but there is a gift to be claimed in the wounds that we experience.
We cannot do the healing for others, but we can hold them in our thoughts and send them love.
Cyndie and I are doing just that with great conviction today.
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Muddy Coat
We’ve had a wet couple of days lately, and it has severely limited my lofty plans to knock off a lot of projects over the weekend. It didn’t help that I spent over half a day getting my eye tended to. The lingering effects have also diminished my motivation to be productive.
I’ve enlisted Cyndie’s help to administer the antibiotic drops that have been prescribed, and every time she does, I receive a report that it is looking better. It helps, even though it doesn’t always feel better.
On Friday night, we worked to prepare the barn for the horses overnight, but since the onset of the rain was delayed, they showed no interest. Yesterday morning, the rain was falling steadily, and Cyndie found them waiting at the barn, desperate to be inside. She obliged them the chance to dry off and warm up.
A shivering horse is quite a sight and serves to motivate inspired action to remedy their discomfort, but it is tricky to safely navigate the process of gates and doors when they are so anxious to get in.
When Cyndie let them out yesterday afternoon, after brushing them out and drying them off, the two geldings immediately and simultaneously laid down and rolled in the wet lime screenings to become muddy wet again. Seems counter-intuitive to us, but they have their ways.
Historically, Hunter is the one who we find painted from head to hoof with mud. The others get dirty, but never with the thoroughness he demonstrates. The other day, Cyndie showed me a picture she took and my instantaneous thought was, “Hunter!”
However, the reason she captured the image was because of the surprise this time that it wasn’t Hunter. At a distance, she had thought the same thing as me, but turns out it was Dezirea with the lime screen coat.
Maybe she was trying to bolster her covering in attempt to hold just a little more warmth in a time of need.
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Foreign Body
I have done it again. This time, I was wearing my safety glasses, but somehow it happened again anyway. A metal fragment lodged in my eye and in time began to rust, just as happened to me 30 years ago.
I knew that debris had gotten around my safety glasses while I was using a grinding stone with a Dremel tool to smooth sharp prongs of the grates I made for the slow-feeder boxes. When I showered afterward, I rinsed my eyes thoroughly.
The next day, both eyes felt a bit irritated, but I figured that was a normal reaction to the abuse of grit followed by the water-washing. Yesterday, when I woke up, my right eye was enough worse that I suspected I had more trouble brewing. Cyndie told me she could see a spot in my eye.
I couldn’t see it, but since I now need correction to see up close, I was trying to look through the lens of my glasses. It didn’t matter. I made an appointment to have it examined at our eye clinic.
First, the doctor checked my distance vision. Still 20/20. That was the good news. Then she immediately identified the foreign body that was indeed beginning to rust. I never expected to suffer that fate twice. It is time for me to buy a face shield that I can wear over the goggles that I will have over my safety glasses.
Yeah, that won’t fog up and make it hard to see what I am trying to do. I should get a welding helmet, and in place of the dark glass window I can put a x1000 magnifying lens so what I am looking at will be in focus.
After the sting of a drop of numbing potion, the tweezers came out and in less than a blink, the sliver was removed. Then came the interesting part. With a miniaturized version of the Dremel tool that caused my problem, she worked to “grind” off the rust in my eye. It took several passes, between which she had me blinking several times.
Finally, she needed to use a Q-tip to retrieve the remnants of floating rust that were left behind.
Walking out into daylight caused pain in the entire eye, which radiated all the way to the back of my head, but it was a relief to know the irritant had been removed. I could live with the discomfort.
The night before, I had created a list of things I hoped to address over my 3-day weekend. By the end of the day yesterday, I had almost finished one of the dozen tasks. That wasn’t the progress I was hoping for.
Shortly after returning from our foray to the eye doctor, George called to check if we were home because he was pulling in our driveway for an appointment to trim our horses and it didn’t look like we were around. Usually, we are waiting for him with the horses haltered and all ready to go. He could see them all grazing in the far side of the hay-field.
Oops. We forgot.
That wasn’t one of the tasks on my list. I suppose I should add it, after the fact, so I could then say I got two things done by the end of the day.
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Threatening
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coyotes called last night again
whooping siren-like howls
echoes from the dark
adding excitement
to the trip down the driveway
rolling the trash
and recycling
to the shoulder of the road
with Delilah in tow
in hopes to dissuade
any roving marauders
whose curiosity might bring near
with our vision confined
to the cone of light
that juts from our foreheads
like miners in a cave
our cave with no ceiling
just dark to the stars
and fog of the evening
the ground wet but not snowy
air temp above freezing
rattling trees with no leaves
now just skeletons of their former selves
creating a haunting feeling
befitting the season
of goblins and spooks
that show up in our heads
where the most threatening reside
not possibly real
ones we make up, instead
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White Flakes
Ladies and gentlemen, let the record state, we have snow. Ready, or not, the white flakes of winter have made their first appearance here. You can hardly see them in the image, but I had to take the picture anyway. It’s the official portrait recording proof of the occasion.
Maybe if you squint a little bit and shake your head back and forth while looking at it.
Not really. I just wanted to see if I could get you to do that.
I came home from work with the full intention of building the last of four slow-feeder hay boxes for the stalls in the barn, for Legacy’s “apartment,” but the weather had degraded early enough that Cyndie moved the herd indoors before I even arrived. He’ll eat his hay out of an open tub for the time being.
I got the night off, which was quite all right with me. I wasn’t that interested in venturing out into the cold and wet blowing mess, preferring instead, to climb under a blanket and take in one of the rented movies that came in the mail.
We had a good laugh over “Life of Crime,” with Mos Def and John Hawkes, among other notable names in the cast. It was a fun distraction from anything that matters, like …the cost increases for medical insurance, or when the chimney repair company will be able to fix it so we can burn fires in the fireplace again.
When the movie was over, we put on outdoor gear that hasn’t been worn for over half a year and went down to the barn to check on the tenants. My headlamp revealed some snow was finding a way to accumulate on the leaves and grass. The horses seemed happy to be out of the elements and a lot closer to dry than they were when they came in, hours before.
I was able to watch the three chestnuts navigating the new hay boxes, while Cyndie worked around them to clean their bedroom floors. It’s nice to see them be able to eat with their heads down, in the natural position of grazing, as opposed to the old system that involved racks that held the hay up high.
I dumped the wheelbarrow of manure and wood shavings, with the thought that this was the beginning of the season where we collect significantly greater volumes to be composted. After just a few loads already this season, the space set aside for this purpose looks like it will never be enough for the whole winter. That is, unless they don’t need to come inside overnight very many times.
I’m thinking El Niño may help keep the horses outside a lot this winter. If that happens, we have plenty of compost space to support our operation for another year.
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It Toppled!
The big rock I stacked upon another last July, on the topped-off pine tree trunk, lasted more than 3 months. It toppled over last weekend.
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I think I heard it, but at the time, mistook the crash for butternuts that loudly fall onto the metal roof of the shop garage. Although, I don’t know what made the big crashing sound when the rock fell, as it landed on soft ground below.
I’m unsure about whether I want to put it back up, or not. I’m going to think about it for a while before doing anything.
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Looking Back
Last week we reached the milestone of the 3rd anniversary of making Wintervale Ranch our home. Lately, Cyndie and I have found ourselves randomly recollecting some of the early days here and marveling over the variety of things that have since changed.
It feels a little —what is it? Presumptuous? Gratuitous?— somehow inappropriate for me to request, but I urge you to sneak a peek at one or two posts from the Relative Something archive (Previous Somethings) for the month of October 2012. There are too many gems depicting our arrival for me to do justice to them by trying to produce links, or re-posting to bring them forward to current posts this week.
Barely a month after we finally closed on the purchase of this place, we adopted the cats, Pequenita and Mozyr. After about a year, we came to the realization that Mozyr was not happy with his situation, and we returned him to the shelter, but Pequenita has proved to be compatible with the random chaos that arises here from time to time.
In July of 2013 we added 10-month-old Belgian Tervuren Shepherd, Delilah, to our family, purchased from a breeder nearby. From that day on we have tended to find ourselves in a battle between her training us and us training her. It’s fair to say there have been a smattering of victories on both sides.
Just short of 3-months after Delilah joined us, in the last week of September in 2013, our horses arrived. That was a monumental occasion for us, and came after an intense effort over the previous 11-months to be appropriately prepared.
We removed rusted barbed wire, installed new fencing, built up protective cover on barn walls (previous owners had miniature horses), buried a water line to an on-demand waterer in their paddock, and built a hay shed, along with a variety of lesser noteworthy projects.
I knew so very little about horses at that time. They have taught me a lot in the ensuing years, and come to mean the world to me. Just standing among them, passing time, has become one of my favorite things to do.
I have built a wood shed, twice. After it blew down in a storm, our friends Barb and Mike Wilkus came by and helped me to put it up a second time. Any time we weren’t working on something else, we were creating the spectacular 70-foot “Rowcliffe Forest Garden Labyrinth.”
Speaking of storms, we have endured a variety of dramatic winter weather events. Two of them particularly stand out for me.
The first one involved 18-inches of heavy wet snow in early May and snapped a lot of tree branches. Two pine trees that tipped over during that storm eventually died, even though I tried standing them back up and staking them.
The second snow storm blew for days and eventually filled the space between the 4-foot banks on either side of the driveway. It took me two days to dig us out, even with the assistance from both of our closest neighbors. What did I learn from that storm? The neighbor to our south told me he had plowed his driveway twice during the storm, so it never got to the extreme that ours did.
Lesson learned.
An awful lot has changed in the last three years. It is hard for me to imagine what might be different, three years from now, but I expect the changes won’t be near as dramatic as what transpired when we first arrived and worked to establish the infrastructure to support having 4 horses and fulfilling a dream of creating our Wintervale Ranch & Retreat Center.
What fun it is to look back once in a while.
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