A change of seats
Here’s what I “should” (I hate that word) have done when I got up yesterday. I should have done some yoga stretching and gone for a walk on the beach, or anywhere, for that fact, but not walking on the beach when you’re practically right on it seems even worse than not going walking, period.
It was a cloudy day and not as hot and windy as it has been; in other words, a good day for gardening.
But I had gardened the day before. I lopped errant branches, fought with the roots of a four-foot mountain ash and won, dug holes, mixed in sheep manure and black earth, planted a cherry tree and a Virginia Creeper and generally puttered around outside, moving this, tidying up that, putting my little backhoe tool to work while Newman mowed and whipper-snipped and came to my aid when I called.
He also cleaned up the kitchen, which he has taken to doing while I work in the garden. This is a good match; I hate housework and cutting grass. He hates gardening. If only I could garden all year long I might be freed from housework (or the guilt of not doing it) forever.
It was all good exercise, not as prescribed in exercise regimes, but I figure about five hours of moving around, squatting and stretching, shovelling with your knees, not my back, trying to make a garden at your own pace, has to be almost as good as an hour in the gym. It’s certainly better for the spirit to be outdoors and for the morale not to be surrounded by Lycra-clad body enthusiasts who would never believe that you used to look like them (sort of).
I have been working up to this physical stuff and am pleased to say that, aside from constant reminders of my slip and fall, I am at the point where my whole body does not cry out in protest after an active day.
It just gets tired.
Here’s what every second day is like. I’m up between 8 and 9 and make my way out to the great room, about a dozen steps. Then I need a rest so I sink into my recliner for a while. Sometimes I check email and computer stuff but usually on a “second day” that requires too much effort.
I work hard in the kitchen. I take a store-bought quiche out of the fridge, cut myself a slice, put it in a frying pan on low to brown the crust, find a cover so it will heat faster and pour myself a glass of club soda and orange juice.
By then I’m getting livelier so I go out to the sun porch and sit down there, put my feet up and let the sun warm me. Even if there’s no sun, I enjoy looking at the beach and watching the water from the brook flow out or from the harbour flow in. This is a fascinating phenomenon that never fails to keep me engaged. With the food fishery open, I get to watch the small boats coming in with their quotas and the splitting and filleting that’s going on in front of me only a stone’s throw away. By then I’ve eaten my breakfast and made myself a cup of coffee (Newman being a tea man) and it’s time to get dressed, wash my face, brush my teeth and make the bed.
After this exertion I take my book and head for a recliner on the deck where I can better hear the fish remains plopping into the water and the gulls hard at work. My brain is almost too active to read as I wonder about who was buried 300 years ago in the cemetery a stone’s throw away on my right and what is that bird I can hear in the laburnum to my left.
By lunch time. I’m rested enough to go for a walk down to the bench by the water. This will be the fourth time I’ve had to change seats today but Newman has surmised that he’s on supper duty, so I can work on getting ready for tomorrow’s work.
“I figure about five hours of moving around, squatting and stretching, shovelling with your knees, not my back, trying to make a garden at your own pace, has to be almost as good as an hour in the gym.”