(photo off the web)
Now the giddiness died down and I feel weak. Weak that I need help, need a therapist. And I don’t think this of anyone else. I should be strong, OK without one. Going to one will set up this need and make it stronger.
My thoughts run ragged. Settle down. It’s OK. You’re OK. Yet I’m driven to eat until my stomach hurts. How can that be helpful? Where has the tendency gone to not need food?
The oppressive heat comes early, as soon as the sun tips over the trees. Don’t sit here obsessing, morose, despondent over this choice of searching for help, despondent because brothers who I thought were brothers are merely just others born into the group of people I lived with. We cannot be close. Maybe they love me in their own way, but not as the person I really am. I am to be pitied, but not heard.
I put on heavy jeans, socks, sneakers, and a sweatshirt. The berries I pick in the patch at the end of the yard are old and the thorns cut deep. The only way to pick thoroughly is to dress for it.
Before the sun spills out baking the earth yet another day, I take my basket to the patch. Hearing the morning peepers and birds busy at task eases my unsettledness. The dead branches must be pushed down to reach the newer fruit laden ones. The little basket fills but with some cuts on my hand that need attention later to avoid infection.
This day’s pickings are dumped into the freezer bag which holds the last two pickings. It will take twice the normal amount of berries to make jelly because only the juice is used. These berries remind me of the scent of cotton candy at the fair which begins in a few weeks, an exotic aroma that makes me feel dreamy.
But the seeds make it impossible to enjoy. The apple grinder won’t strain the tiny seeds. So they are wrapped in cheesecloth then hung from the cupboard handle over a bowl and strained overnight. All this for five little jars of deep purple gold, so precious only my sons and Stevie, a raspberry lover, have been recipients.
Do the things you love while you can and when you can. Summer’s almost at end. Live it. Sweat in it, swim in it, work in it. Live. Stop sweating the small stuff and live big…simply.
These lilies were given to me by my friend Sue, an avid gardener who passed away from the ravages of cancer about 3 years ago. She wanted to make sure I had one of every color. One is missing though so I may have to give my camera a whirl…