Giving Up

This journal has been neglected for months. Last fall, shingles laid me low. The pain was excruciating and I was getting just a few hours’ sleep every night. I lost weight. During the last week of my recovery, the new shingles vaccine was announced. I felt a strong sense of resentment as you can imagine. 

Tomorrow I will get the vaccine. I understand that it is expensive and not covered by Medicare. I, fortunately, am able to pay so that I will never (knock on wood) get shingles again. I wish everyone could.

Finally, I seem to be recovering from that hideous ordeal. A little energy has returned and I’ve almost regained lost weight. I had lost almost ten percent of my weight, which I could little afford.

Feeling a bit like my old self again I straightened up the laundry and cleaned a bit, did the laundry, and swept leaves and dirt out of the garage. Then I made supper. I felt pretty frisky. Hey! Maybe I’ll try to remove weeds and over-zealous perennials from the hosta bed, which extends about 40 feet across the front of our house. 

Hoe in hand, I started working on the east end of the bed, where American bluebells and others are trying to crowd out everything else. Also I removed a lot of weeds, hacking away with my unsharpened hoe.

I lasted about ten minutes before the joints in my hands began to ache, along with the severe, calcified scoliosis in my lower back. I didn’t dare bend over, fearing I would do a face-plant in the hosta bed, so I limped away, put the hoe in the garage, and went inside.

Gardening has been a huge part of my life. I love every stage of gardening, from the time I spend waiting for seedlings to sprout to pulling up past-their-prime vegetables to compost or feed the chickens. I love squeezing a handful of soil to test its friability or dampness, and smelling the fragrance of the earth that feeds us all. 

As much as it hurts to admit it, my body just isn’t capable of gardening any more. The hosta bed experience has convinced me of that sad truth. But I remember the joy it gave me and I’m thankful for all those years of digging in the dirt.

Copyright 2018 Shirley Domer