Moony & Loony?
Last night as I was getting ready for bed I was deciding to abandon my blogging efforts. After all, I admitted, I simply don’t have anything more to say. My writing life is over. Inspiration headed south months ago. Time to face facts and call it quits.
I also decided to throw out all my house plants. They’re nothing but clutter anyway. Chuck them! Maybe when I have more oomph I’ll get some new ones. I’d neglected them for days and some were looking a bit wilted, so it would be simple — a kindness, really — to toss them out in the woods rather than prolonging their suffering.
But since it was already past midnight and, full moon or not, I didn’t want to be outside wandering over to the woods with my arms full of pots. So, okay, I got out the watering can and watered them all so they wouldn’t have to suffer from thirst overnight. Then took my antibiotic, toddled off to bed, and morning came again. I still haven’t done anything about the plants. And I seem to have something more to say today. This is what is known as being indecisive.
Mind you, I might blame my health. We were into the city yesterday for shopping plus I paid a visit to the doctor, fearing phlebitis. The arm that got the needle for Wednesday’s chemo started to hurt some by Friday but it cleared up after a couple of days, then yesterday morning it was tender and swollen again. It’s a deeper-in vein, nothing very visible one the surface, but by noon I was getting suspicious “hot & cold” sensations in that forearm.
By 2pm the skin was noticeably pink in the spots where the swelling could be seen, so I decided not to fool around with it. We were in the city; I may as well get it checked out right away rather than waiting and having to go another time if it got worse. The doctor I saw put me on an antibiotic, four a day, and gave me some one-a-day anti-inflammatory pills to take as well. With the two I already take, plus antacids, my time is taken up with remembering which pill I need to take and when.
I suspect some of this contributed to my “It’s hopeless. All is lost!” mood yesterday evening. (Or was I a little loony during full moon?) I was wiped out most of yesterday — and felt quite chilled this morning. Plus for some reason I’ve been feeling light-headed (unbalanced, you could say) for the past couple of days. But now we have a bright new day and I’m unwilling to totally abandon all my projects. I did some de-cluttering this morning and that feels some better. Someone once told me that if you’re feeling depressed, the best thing to do is clean something — and it works.
Hummers Still With Us
I also mixed up new juice for the hummingbirds first thing. A couple were zipping around early this morning and I took note that they’d almost drained the hummer feeder, so I replaced the juice in that one. I’m sure they know the clank of my ladder by now; not long after I’d put the ladder away again there were four tiny birds vying for a place at the feeder. I also replaced the juice in the oriole feeder, but the wasps have claimed that one and chase the hummers away if they try to drink from it. I haven’t found a good solution for this — I fear spraying the wasps would leave a harmful residue that would affect the tiny birds.
I actually observed up to six hummers flitting around this morning, with up to three drinking at the one feeder at the same time. For awhile I stood outside in the sunshine soaking up the sun’s warmth, watching the birds, hearing their tiny twitters as they chided and chased each other. “A pleasant interlude,” Great-Grandma would have said.
Yesterday we were at Dollarama (a bargain store here in Canada) and I noticed there’s a whole long aisle — both sides — full of Halloween stuff. Already! School won’t start again for a couple of weeks, and here we have this major display ready for Oct 31st. Sigh… Commerce is a relentless taskmaster.
Eight Cans For A Dollar
I was also reading a book called Sister of the Bride, written by Beverly Cleary, © 1963. Written from the perspective of a 16-year-old girl, this is an interesting departure from her Ramona & Beezus series. The every-day details definitely take my mind back. The setting is circa 1960; the prices mentioned are in keeping with those times. For example, for her son — thirteen and always-hungry — Mrs MacLane is delighted when she can find eight cans of pork & bean on sale for $1. And Mr MacLane is paying out the hefty sum of $25 a month to an orthodontist for braces for his oldest daughter. But the daughter, attending the University of CA, wants to get married — and how will the bridegroom ever be able to afford that astronomical monthly bill? Fortunately he’s older and has a good job, so it looks do-able.
Sometimes you just long for an old-fashioned book, written when life was simpler and more settled, not such a roller-coaster of angst, illegitimate children popping up, accusations, addictions, etc. You know, I liked June Cleaver — much as I can remember of her. I wish we could bring back her caring-mother type into today’s stories.
People who count in publishing, chiefly editors, griped about those June Cleaver stereotypes and writers were forced to abandon them. But we haven’t gotten away from stereotypes — we’ve just replaced them with something no better. At least I’m getting weary of the ditch-on-the-other-side stereotype mothers in a lot of recent books. A harsh, demanding perfectionist, inclined to be sarcastic and critical, indifferent to her children’s feelings, usually an active social climber (if not actually politically-aspiring), all about keeping up appearances and forcing her children to live up to her standards. Really, a number of mothers are cast as the main antagonists in today’s stories – and this makes me sad. Where with the current generation learn any mothering skills? Will the pendulum swing back again someday?
Anyway, I shall end my ramblings now and go take one of my pills. It must be time for one kind of another.