Saturday, November 15, 2008
Random thoughts and Soup.
I have been listening to Debbie's play list today. Reading books and drinking tea and turning over once in awhile. I brushed my hair that needs a shampoo but didn't wash it. My huge contribution today was making a pot of soup. The hunny is now down with the crud and his sympathies are so much more empathetic; he is miserable.
After a week in the bed I don't feel better. If I don't go to work Monday I may lose my job. Nobody has a job for 4 weeks and then misses two! It was bad enough to miss one. I think this, as I pull off another sweat soaked nightgown. Asthma has always caused that in me. No one knows why. I don't have TB or pneumonia or even any bacterial infection. I just get the sweats when I'm sick. I fall asleep and soak the bed. It only happens if I sleep. Some ancient healer in the Appalachian mountains would know more. Some root or berry to make a tea, or a plaster, some remedy of the Earth that actually does work.
Invariably days of bed rest bring about too much time on my hands kind of thinking. Too many questions and too many thoughts and the spiral down begins. I realized today that one of the very big difference in my husband and I is that I have always had dreams and ideas, and he does not, and never has. I have always wanted to live in the country, on a small self sustaining farm. I wanted to raise orphans, chickens, and have cats and dogs. I had hoped to plan days around the making of fine pie crust and a good loaf of bread. The harvesting of apples, the plans and jobs that revolve around the seasons of the year in the country.
My husband grew up in that life. He has all that knowledge. When he uses a hoe it is like magic to see the earth change and form under the skill in his hands. He was not happy then. His father never conveyed love to him. His father worked hard and drank hard. My husband left that world behind with no wish to return to it ever. All the skills he has that I admire, the ones I wish he'd teach us while he is living. It is not going to happen. He is 70 now and I am 53. There will never be the country place. There is no escaping the necessity of a job to pay for the life style that is here, where we are right now.
This is the place of reality. There are two girls to give life and hope too. My little house on the cul de sac is not on a farm, there are no chickens. The husband does not want a dog again. The memory of the big black dog brings tears to my eyes and a wrench to my gut that will never go away. The husband does not understand those feelings as he does not know dreams. I cannot hold that against him. It's just what is.
When the heart despairs the secret is to praise God. When I am feeling darkest and the least hopeful I begin with the smallest things. Thank you for my nice bed. Thank you that I made soup today, and the food was here. Thank you for making the garden pretty. Thank you for a lap top. Thank you for a beautiful play list with no commercials. Thank you for giving me the understanding to recognize the differences and not be angry. Thank you for hope for tomorrow. Thank you for those who do live the lives I have dreamed of and share their joy that I can partake of it and relish it. Even as I prepare to go into corporate America where I have never longed to be. Thank you Lord for your daily love.