Sittin On A Porch

Sittin On A Porch
Our little back porch

Saturday, April 23, 2011

An Armadillo

If it is OK, I would like to get the whining out of the away straight forth.  I am turning back into a hard core doer.  That is not good.  That is not right.  That is my nature.  I am so worried about not having enough time to make it to my June 9th retirement date, that I have been working 5 - 7 hours a day.  You see I think I am normal again.  I know I am not really, but honestly, I am so tired of having cancer.  That is another part of my nature.  I have no patience with being sick, or sad, or any negative feelings, so I work it off.  I feel like Seabiscuit, the horse that won all those races, even on bad feet or through pain, that horse would just work it off, run it off, walk it off.  So as illogical as it is, to quit "being sick" I have thrown myself back into things.  Back to doing.  A human doer.  Honestly I loved the times that my body made me sit still and experience, for more then a day what it meant to be a human being instead of a human doing.  

But it is not my true nature

And I have a very strong, driving, doing nature.

But I am noticing that when I leave work after 5 - 7 hours I walk out to the car and I feel the exhaustion wrap itself around me like the heat and humidity that has settled in here this early spring.  I go home and I am so tired that I sit.  I don't do those little things we all must do, like clean the house, mow the lawn, weed the garden, plant the plants, sew the costume, cook food.  And yes, I have lost that weight I had worked so hard to gain back.  I am not at my thinnest by any means.  I am actually just a couple of pounds off of my "natural weight" which many would think is too thin to begin with, but it is the weight that I have been for most of my full size life.  But wearing myself out shows on my face and then even a couple of pounds and I look a little haggard.  I feel that way, so why should I be surprised that it shows on my face.  And I am getting one of my eye things.  This one seems more like a sty then the previous ones have.  Whenever I have gone to the doctor for these before, he always said they were like sties.  And I am getting the "rash" which is really just a nice way to say acne, one spot a week.  Not so bad.  Except that they seem to get infected or are infections when they come up.  So, not the best looking week.  And all of these things are made worse by over doing and not resting, or sleeping enough.  

Yet there is more then enough work to go around in that office.  I feel guilty walking out with my staff so over loaded with no help in sight.   So I stay and work a little longer.  And then a little longer the next day.  Then the next day I take work home to do at night as I sit in my chair.  It is less stressful working here at home, and I can work at a little slower pace and achieve twice as much as if I had to do both the work at work and the work I do at home.  I can still count some time for this work at home.   But the problem arises that I fail to recognize this is still work.  And it is still taking away from time to do things for myself instead of for the state.  And it is taking my time I could be resting instead of working.  

Sigh, it is my nature  And I am a strong believer of mind over matter, but my will to control my mind is apparently no challenge to my ability to do.

My fear of starving to death has also over ridden any well laid plans to retire and enjoy life.  Oh no, I must have a job.  I must get up and put on a bra and a smile and a happy attitude and go to a job where they give me a check every two weeks.  I will work twice as hard as necessary to earn that check.  But then I am a woman who has spent all of my life in the world of men.  I have had to do twice as much twice as well to earn the respect of the men around me.  And I have done that.  But what do I need to prove now?  I have done my best to open doors for all people.  I was the first woman to supervise Feed, Seed, Fertilizer and Pesticide inspectors for the state.  I have done a few firsts.  They do not feel like big firsts now.  But at the time they were hard earned, and now that they seem everyday because of the woman before me, and of my generation who said, this is ridiculous.  It does not matter the color of your skin, the name of the god of your religion, the sex of the person you fall in love with, whether or not you have an XX or an XY chromosome.  It is your knowledge, skills and abilities that should be judged.  And we have come a long way.  But it is time for me to move out of the way and let this generation decide what they want to accomplish and how.  I have earned the right to wear ugly dresses and big hats and grow tomatoes.  I have earned the right to sit in my gardens for hours with a trowel poised above a hole staring off at a butterfly dancing amongst the flowers, sipping and flitting wings covered in jewel toned scales reflecting the light back in ever changing patterns.

I did that as a child constantly.

And now as an adult when I can now name the Latin name of the insect, I get up and drive to an office.  And after I am retired I will work 3 days a week inside a shop.  And I am excited about the change of jobs.  And I am looking forward to slipping into the community I have lived in for 4 1/2 years and getting to better know these lovely people in this town.  But what about the best laid plans for Wednesday sewing group.  The monthly vegetarian luncheon.  The Tai Chi classes.  They are already shoved to the bottom of the list.

My rant is done, spent, worked out.  I see more clearly the corner I am painting myself into.  I can not say I will change, for I can not put that pressure on myself.  But I am more aware of my nature and the things I do then I was a year ago.  I feel a little rested just saying out loud how foolish I am being.  And instead of making plans to do less.  Which the sentence alone makes no sense.  I will try and think about being a little moderate.  

I have cancer, I should rest my body and be kind to it.

I have cancer, that is a limiter on what I will be able to do and for how long, so I should do as much as I can while I still can.

There are the 2 sides that struggle in me constantly.

Last night I heard one of my cats talking to someone.  I opened the back door and there just fresh coming out of its little house under my back deck was the fattest armadillo I have ever seen.  The light startled the poor creature and it turned with difficulty being such a girthy thing and waddled and scrambled back to the steps up the bottom one, and then in between it and the next to push back down into it's lovely hole.  The first thought that came to my mind was of Arnold.  The pig on Green Acres.  Arnold was not fat or girthy for a pig, pigs have a particular shape, and  this Armadillo was shaped quiet like that, and with it's little Armadillo feet  and ears it looked so much like a pig.  So of course it is obvious that I shall call this child Arnold.  I have known I had an Armadillo for quiet a while, but I was not sure if the hole was its home or maybe another creature, like a opossum, that I would not want living in as close of proximity to my chickens as this.  Arnold does reek havoc on my yard, digging for grubs in the lawn and in the gardens, but that is a far different story then eating my chickens.  So Arnold is welcome to live here with the rest of us.  Brave little portly creature to live near Bob and the cats.  But they all seem to be cohabiting quite nicely, so that is working out well.

I just spoke to Ms Judy and she said, well do you think it is pregnant?  I never considered the reason for the girthieness of my Arnold, or is it Annette?  That would make perfect sense.  This animal has just re-dug the entrance to its home under my porch.  This is a very fertile piece of property.  Just look at the rabbits who have been putting on X rated shows in the pasture lately.  Right out in front of god and neighbors and everyone.  Mostly ZB, my brown with black stripped rabbit.  Stripped like a zebra.  This will take a little thought now that I have a new possibility in my mind concerning my new welcomed child.  Arnold or Annette?

This morning when Bob was nuzzling up trying to wake me so I could feed him or throw the ball, not necessarily in that order, I opened the back door and lay in bed listening to all the birds.  I heard a program on Science Friday yesterday talking about sound scape's and what a wonderful tool recordings of natural areas are making in the science world.  These recordings can help speak to the fact of preserving different ecosystems and how you can hear the health of an ecosystem change sometimes before you can see it.  So I lay and listened to the birds trying to identify the individuals and then to hear the orchestration of the whole.  How the songs and timing of the songs are adapted to intertwine with each other, so that none are lost, but fit into their place so that their song meant to express fear or happiness or sexual willingness or joy are not lost in the whole.  A specie's ability to survive is partially dependent on their ability to fit their voice into the whole.  If you sing at the wrong time and not heard, then you would fade out of existence in this system.  My newly awakened sense of hearing tingled as I understood a little better of this world I share here on Farmboy road.  I love the name of my road.  I love my little road, path like in its meandering to my house riddled with pot holes that can hide a mini cooper. I know that for sure because my neighbor has to deal with that each time she leaves the property.

The air rich with moisture and more of a summer like coolness then the spring crispness.  The songs and screeches and rapid tapping of of the birds hung in the thick moisture and slowed down the songs.  But each adapted to fit their song into the orchestration.  The sun above the clouds of humidity lighten the sky but does not show its face.  Bob shoves his face into mine tennis ball firmly in place already damp with his saliva.  Henry ignores me at the end of the bed, pretending a patience to my laziness as I pull the covers up closer to my face trying to put off getting up and starting my day.  It is 7:00 am.  I feel no guilt over not jumping up for the immediate desire of my children.  They are well fed, and this is a time of hugs and scratching and whispers of good morning.  They are as hungry for attention as for nutrition.  After all they have gone more then eight hours without Mother's constant attention.  They can not push themselves on me when I am at work, but when I am at home and sleeping, that is unforgivable.  I should be up, feeding, petting, loving, throwing the ball, clucking lovingly.  I should be holding someone or sitting next to another and stroking their fine soft coats.  So I rise and start my day.

And today I shall finish Thuggee's robe, and then go to the Opera House to paint the sets, and run errands, and maybe spend some time planting or weeding.  Maybe I shall clean a little in the house.  I know I will throw the ball a hundred times, but it will not be enough.  And tomorrow is Easter.  A special breakfast for everyone, then a peep hunt in the yard with the 2 boys.  A breakfast buffet at Lily/Jason/Owen's house.  Then on to Spamalot with Richard and Jessie.  

Then quick as a breath it will be Monday and our last rehearsal on the stage before the preview show on Thursday.  Friday night will be here before we are ready and it will be opening night.  And all the work and worries will be replaced with smiles and laughter and the show will go on.

But for this moment, with the doors flung open and the sewing machine calling my name, I will sew.  And enjoy the sensation of taking beautiful red cloth and with a whir of my Viking sewing machine I will have a robe for Thuggee.  Finished finally.  And he will wear it in the show and when he spins around the robe will float on the air and the swish of the sword and sounds of the feet on the little stage and the gasp of the audience will end with applause and laughter.  

A lovely day, filled with so much potential.  Quiet potential and sweet bird song.


  1. I love the world through your writerly eyes.
    Yes, I do.

  2. I used to think that I would work until I died. But as the years passed, I began to see that I wanted to live some dreams. Work was a dream but now it is a different chapter for me. I think that you do a good job of examining your motives.