A list of things that have changed since I last posted:
- The Bellysucker 9000 has been returned to its place of origin.
- I’m doing small daily bandage changes at home.
- I don’t have to see the wound care doctor (or any doctor at all) for two whole weeks.
A list of things that are mostly the same since I last posted:
- I need to write more.
- I need to knit more.
- Laundry and housework should happen on a more regular schedule.
I took out the garden on Saturday. I always feel a little melancholy when I take out the garden for the end of the year. No more truly fresh vegetables on my table. The last of summer has faded completely and the barren ground that marks the raised beds of my garden space says more about the reality of the coming winter than any amount of fallen leaves blanketing the grass which has not quite given up it’s green.
The yard compost bin is completely full now. For the moment, yard work is done. The city contractors will take it away to the giant compost pile they run at the waste facility. Once that’s complete, we’ll start the cycle of raking leaves. Some will go to cover my empty garden beds, becoming mulch and helping feed next year’s garden, but most will go into the yardy, to be taken away and composted elsewhere and perhaps help someone else’s garden.
But this year? This year is all but gone and there’s so little time left to make anything of it.
I have not yet awoken to frost on the ground or ice in the street, but those things are not far around the corner. It’s hard to think of them yet. Halloween isn’t until Tuesday and then Thanksgiving will be all but upon us.
We’re hosting the festivities again this year. I enjoy the cooking and the planning. I know I’ll make brussel sprouts with bacon and we’ll probably spatchcock a turkey, because that worked out so nicely when we did it the first time. It’s a little awkward to carve, but it cooks so evenly and everyone agreed it came out moist and tender with almost no work on my part.
I still have a little time to think about the meal. I have less time to think about how I still might make something of this year. It seems like life itself gets in the way of the living of it. Places to go. People to meet. Things to do. Bills to pay. Promises to keep. Miles to go before I sleep.
No wonder I’m so tired.
I have a plan though. It’s a clever plan called: figuring out where the hours go now and putting them to better use. That, however, is a plan for Monday, as this is being written late on Sunday.