Oh my aching body. This 81-year-old carcass has been doing deep tissue massage for the past 4 days, a departure from the calm, gentle lilting craniosacral session that is the norm. Most people are way, way retired by now. My BFF from high school has been languishing in a gated retirement complex with her husband for 25 years. They go on cruises, travel visiting the families of their 4 sons, dress up in silly costumes for neighborhood parties while keeping up on current events and having opinions that suit my sensibilities. Not that I wish for that life, although a good long stent on the beach, reading Alice Monroe and dancing with the locals wouldn’t hurt. Don’t get me wrong. I love my work, it gives me purpose and I don’t have grandchildren. Work has always defined me. But girl, give yourself a break here and there. A Memorial Day off today and my mind is full of things to accomplish. Repot that Anthurium with the roots so crowded together that they are trying to escape out the bottom, the top anywhere to get out of there. It is screaming at me. Save me! Save me!! The leaves are starting to curl, a sure sign of dehydration which I looked up on the internet. My hands are aching, my back is stiff…but I am coming Anthurium. Hold on. I’m coming. Maybe.
I like going backstage with the deep-tissue masseuse and following her contemplations on the contrast between her aliveness and her cruise-going peers most of whom are "way way retired" ... but no time to contemplate long, the plants are shouting! :)
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