Folk Medicine

So I did what I needed to do.
I spent most of the day outside and when I came in, I made soup.

I walked my miles and then I came home and took Ibuprofen because after I walk I can barely walk. When I was in Roseland I noticed the old people wherever we went and mostly how they walk. They are stiff and they look funny and it's so easy to make fun of them, even if just in your mind, but honestly- they walk that way because they hurt.
I am learning that now and it is not an easy lesson to learn.
This knee, that foot, this hip, that ankle. Whatever. It all adds up to a lack of grace which one must accept with grace. I mean- what else can you do? Shoot yourself because you don't walk pretty?

I've thought about it but discarded the idea.

I don't dance in public anymore, though. I can tell you that.

Ah lah.

I spent hours taking out the giant lilies which are falling over, their tiny rooster-comb blossoms spent anyway. Also the elephant ears which are fading fast, turning brown and ugly. I pulled dozens of a plant which I do not know the name of and which has, in fact, a pretty pink blossom but which spreads with the virulence of a celebrity porn video on youtube. I picked up branches and I tried to move the giant branch which fell from one of the big oaks by the railroad track out back but it was too heavy for me to budge, not only being large but also covered in Resurrection fern which makes it all the weightier. It is a beautiful thing and I want to move it a bit to make a border. Mr. Moon will have to help me. The fern will continue to grow and thrive, even though the host-branch is dead, going brown during draught and then springing green and alive again after a rain.
It is well named, that fern. I do not have to take that resurrection on faith. It is a beautiful fact I can witness for myself.

I planted the violas, finally. Are they violas or Sweet Williams or merely tiny pansies? I just looked them up. They are Viola Tricolor. And now I know. I planted them in pots which meant that I had to rearrange other plants in pots and get rid of plants which had died in pots and so forth. It is not unlike when you add a small table or chair to a room and end up redoing your entire decor. I lugged heavy pots and I got my hands in dirt and the little flowers look a bit wilty but they will spring up with great vigor. Unless the chickens eat them. My porch stoop, is one of the chicken's daily stations of the cross. I am not sure why, but it is.

While I worked in the yard, my old dog Pearl followed me around and the chickens did too, to a degree. It is impossible for me to feel lonely working in my yard with the plants, the animals. They make such good company. They require nothing from me but my company, no chat, no bra. Of course the chickens are looking for grapes (I believe they think of me as nothing more than a large grape-dispensing machine) but they do not fuss if I don't give them any. They are polite.


I went out to the garden and the setting sun was spilling light on the marigolds, making them gleam as if they were lit within. They are all volunteers, these marigolds, and come back every year.


That same light was bringing out the color of the eggplants, hanging like giant purple globes on the bush.


One has to plant eggplant no matter how one feels about eating it. It is that beautiful and shiny.

I picked beans and a few collard leaves and brought them in and combined them with venison, cabbage, broccoli, carrots, potatoes, onions, garlic, corn, edamame beans and tomatoes. That is simmering right now. I had no celery, which is a disappointment, but I added a generous amount of celery seed and am hoping that will work.

And so, I have, if not healed myself, at least calmed myself. When I work outside in the dirt and the light with plants and water, or when I am inside, chopping greens and peeling garlic, I am less anxious. I am more at peace with the world. I am remembering what is important.

Tomorrow morning I will vote because goddammit, Rick Scott should be in jail, not our governor. Beyond that, I don't know that any of it makes a dime's worth of difference. I am jaded, I am worried, I am going to go to the Baptist church down the road to cast my ballot.

And then I'll go to Thomasville with Kathleen and Judy. Kathleen's insides are going to be inspected and detected and I will get to meet some of the doctors there. I'm looking forward to hanging with those girls again. Those women. Those women of my heart. I have missed them.
I need to go turn off the sprinklers on the garden. It is dark now. The chickens are already shut up and cozy.

I want to go to bed early and Mr. Moon is out of town so I know that I'll read longer than I should.

Vote tomorrow, y'all. Do it. The polls are saying that it's going to be mostly white male Republicans who go out to vote. How I would love to prove the polls wrong! We have such an imperfect system of governance but it's the only one we have. Let's try to restore some sanity. Does it make you as ridiculously happy as it makes me that John Stewart's and Stephen Colbert's rally garnered far more people than Glenn Beck's did?
And that their signs were spelled correctly?

Well. Another day in this life of mine. Another day in yours.
The sun came out. I worked outside. I came in and made soup.

What did you do? I hope it was soothing. I hope it leaves you tired and ready to sleep. I hope that we can all accept with grace that which comes our way, whether stiff joints or aching feet.

Let's keep walking. Even if we look funny. What else can we do?

What else can we do? The best we can. And we'll hope that's enough.
I think it is.
I do.