Unnecessary And Useless Angst Along With Unexpected Joy

Biggest thing I did today was to pick another probably four gallons of beans. Glen took about a gallon of them to his friend Alan with whom he is going fishing tomorrow. I believe that snapper season starts then. As usual I didn't get out in the garden until it really was too hot. Today is the first day I've really suffered from the heat. It was rather tortuous. The sun was full-on out although a few hours later the sky clouded over and I could hear thunder not that far off. We didn't get a drop of rain though. There's a small chance it'll rain tomorrow. That would be awesome. 
When it got overcast, I thought I should go back out and weed but I couldn't make myself do it. I just could not. Instead I decided to do something inside that would make me happy. 
Now, when I do this, when I decide to do what might be deemed as a purely recreational activity, I have such a hard time deciding which one I should do that I often end up not doing any of them which is ridiculous and makes no sense at all. Today's choices were to either work on the jigsaw puzzle I've been working on for a dog's age, or to work on painting glaze on my leaf platter, or to do some sort of needlework. 
I finally settled on the needlework. I don't know if any of you remember when I went through the phase of making sweat rags and work rags from washed cheesecloth by hand-hemming them in a simple and easy running stitch and there really is not a reason in the world you should remember. 
However, we do use those rags and Glen loves them but wants larger ones to tuck into his overalls when he's working outside to mop his brow with. I bought more cheesecloth months ago and cut it into larger rectangles and hemmed a few of them but there are a lot more waiting to be hemmed. So this activity was not just very relaxing but also had a purpose. It would result in something that was usable. One could argue that my leaf platter will be too but that's a pretty far reach. 
So I sat on the couch and decided I'd watch something other than "Bad Mistakes" and after way too long spent searching for something I thought I might like I settled on the Bruce Springsteen movie, "Deliver Me From Nowhere." Like the Bob Dylan movie "A Complete Unknown," which I liked very much, it's a dramatization of Springsteen's life. Especially his early life. I've had a hard time trying to make myself watch it. For some reason, watching the Dylan movie wasn't as hard a decision. Not sure why except that Dylan is not exactly human in my mind. He is a spirit, a wraith, possibly a prophet, a clown, a jester, an ever-changing sprite, an almost mythical being, even as he will turn 85 on Sunday, a birthday he shares with my May. 
So- watching a dramatization of his beginnings sort of fit right in to the entire gestalt of him as he appears to me. 
But Bruce? Well you know he's a man. Not a regular man by any means. A powerful, amazing, world-changing musician who is, if not a super hero, at least a man of super powers. But we've seen his wife who has frequently performed with him as she, too, is a musician. We've heard about his struggles with depression, his extremely difficult childhood, the way he made pancakes for his kids on the weekends when they were young. 
And I just could not figure out how any actor, no matter how talented, could convincingly play that man. But I gave the movie about a ten minute try and I just...could...not. The actor who played him, Jeremy Allen White was not bad at getting Springsteen's voice right or his presence in concert but I wasn't buying it. It annoyed me. The actor who played Clarence Clemons was fine but he moved nothing like Clarence did. And for some reason, all of this irritated me so much I could not let myself fall into the make-believe of a movie. 

So. Back to "Bad Mistakes" (and boy, are mistakes made!) and hemmed a sweat rag and all the while felt guilty because I was sitting on my ass with the TV on in the daytime while there were gardens to weed and areas to rid of crocosmia and chenille plant and the fifteen other varieties of non-native invasives that I drone on about all the time. And if not feeling guilty, then feeling as if I'd made the wrong choice. I could and should be doing something more creative, like glaze-painting. 

What the fuck is wrong with me? I think a lot of it has to do with seeking approval and to my mind, doing hard physical things or things that I don't enjoy like house cleaning are what I need to do for approval. 
From whom? 
Well, my husband I guess. 
And does he ever complain about not having mopped floors and dust-free surfaces? No, he does not. 
On the other hand, does he ever say, "Gee, honey, I can't believe how sparkling and clean you keep the toilets and how fresh and folded my laundry always is! You're amazing!"
No. He does not. He does thank me every night for supper. 
Every night. But what I'm saying is that if he's judging me in either a positive or negative way about the sort of activities I'm doing, he surely doesn't verbalize it. He does indeed tell me he loves me and that he is so lucky and that this is what he's always wanted- to have a life and a wife like this. 
So why am I just completely and constantly aware of the level of productivity I am achieving? 
I have a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with my childhood. But good Lord. Why can't I rid myself of these unneeded and unhelpful and joy-destroying feelings I have about myself? 

Well, here's something that just happened that brought me not only joy but incredulity. 

I heard a loud flapping sound and looked out to see a hawk landing and perching on the bird feeder which is probably about fifteen feet from the porch. Maurice too, was startled, and she crept out to the top porch step to sit and observe it. Hawks generally are not known for close association with humans and I'm sure that one could see me. And Maurice. I mean...eyes like a hawk. Right?
It was probably hoping a smaller bird, a cardinal or a wren or a dove, would be pecking at the fallen seed on the ground below the feeder. 
I wonder if it's the same hawk that would perch on the old play fort every evening and then make a swooping dive between the porch and the magnolia tree. I called him (or her) Hawk.
I have missed Hawk. I hope this is she. Or he.
Can you see the magnolia blossom in the tree behind Hawk? From where I am sitting I can see seven blooms with more to come. 

Here are two of them. 

When the hawk left the perch, it flew to the china berry tree and I just now saw it fly across the yard and back to the trees behind the garage. I feel somewhat blessed to have witnessed that. 

Blueberries Glen picked from one of our bushes that I ate with my pineapple and cottage cheese afternoon snack. 

Maurice lookin' for love. 

Hallway zinnias because I need them. 

Leftovers tonight. 

Love...Ms. Moon

P.S. We cut that tomato and I made sandwiches with it for our lunch. It is beyond my capacity to describe how damn good it was. 
And the paper bag ripening situation is working well.