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Gopher Gulch: The pleasure of gazing at beauty and daydreaming
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The world’s biggest spider may be able to back me out of a cupboard, but Judi is another critter entirely. She says she goes at things “like I was killin’ snakes,” an accurate description of her way of being in the world. She doesn’t really kill snakes. It’s like “killing two birds with one stone.” We really need some new metaphors.
The kitchen project succeeded beyond my wildest dreams! Being an outdoor person who considers housekeeping cruel and unusual punishment, my housework has been kept to necessary repairs, the purchases for which were made in the hardware department. Now it’s a joy to walk into the bright, clean space the kitchen has become. Gone are the stacks of junk mail and the decades of clutter that had gravitated to the counter. She actually managed to turn that horrid 1950s red counter and metal cupboards into assets, pulled together by the artful application of a border around the top of the wall, a few decals and Persian-looking area rugs. Judi has a gift for transforming a mess into a decorator’s dream. Counter clutter weeded to its essentials isn’t clutter at all if you put it in a nice basket. There are matching towel racks on either side of the stove — and all these years I thought towel racks were bent nails. Were you aware that stores have whole kitchen sections of potholders, kitchen towels and matching goodies? I have beautiful canisters instead of old jerky jars. Altogether, the operation was wildly successful.
Except for the constant pain when I breathed, the stab if I coughed,
my inability to lie down at night and my attempt not to be too big a
baby about it all. But after six weeks of this, followed by four hours’
sleep in two nights, enough is enough. I called the clinic and went to
see Laurie, who reassured me that pleurisy just takes a long time to
heal. And she gave me permission to take care of myself.
Why do we need permission to take a break, even when we’re sick and hurt? I don’t know why it’s referred to as “the protestant work ethic,” when we kids who grew up Catholic are equally obligated to be busy or guilty. My generation is the product of people climbing out of the Great Depression and diving directly into the Great Ambition. If our fever was under 103 and we weren’t bleeding heavily, we’d better be busy. Since my family were brushpickers, I had much more freedom than most kids and discovered the shameful pleasure of gazing at beauty and daydreaming. Oh, I talk a good game. But all that playing in the harbor this summer was very active playing, designed to build strength and improve breathing. The decision isn’t final, but I might tackle the Oregon section of the Pacific Crest Trail. It seems a fine way to stay busy enough to keep my ancestors from spinning in their graves while not messing up the kitchen. |
