Katrina is concerned that my lack of blogging this month is an indication of how rough things are in my life, “rough” covering a wide range.
I say my lack of blogging is an indication of how badly my schedule has gotten out of hand. I often (too often) have a full plate. As of late, we are not talking “full.” Instead, we are talking “spilled over onto the table and about to run on the floor.”
I just want a new plate. But there aren’t any left. Getting up from the table is not an option. And unlike everyone at the Mad Hatter’s tea party, I can’t move over one setting.
Finances are on my plate. So are family concerns that have been causing my youngest brother and me to huddle on the phone. So is a respiratory infection that has left me exhausted. (Good thing it was a little one or I’d really be in over my head.) The little itty bitty seedlings that are supposed to be our garden this summer are on the plate, although not as big a serving as they before last night, when our good friend Kermit brought over some of his “extras,” big strapping plants that put mine to shame. (Thank you, Kermit!)
I was recently looking at photos of a church mission trip. I envied the one of the mission team, looking so happy and hearty, all of them older than me by several years judging from the photos. There they all were, smiling broadly, going off to repair walls and plumb houses and build foundations.
I know; it’s a photo. It may have been hot and humid the whole time. Someone may have daily pounded their thumb instead of a nail. Someone else may have been muttering “I can’t stand this, why did I ever sign up for this?” The whole trip may have been dogged by bad luck and bad humor. But I’m telling you: they looked good.
Looking at those pictures made me tired. (Truth is, I am tired even when I haven’t been sick, courtesy of the myeloma. Throw the respiratory thing in and I am wiped out.) If I were on a mission trip, I would probably have to find a shady spot and stretch out for a nap. The roof would not get fixed because I’d be working on it in twenty minute intervals with a rest in between.
I know this for a fact because Warren has been painting the hallway and I have been watching him, all the time feeling guilty because I am too tired to help. (Warren’s reply is “it’s nice if you just keep me company and talk to me while I am work,” which is Reason #9588573857 on a long list of why he is such a wonderful husband: he doesn’t mind doing the work alone when I am in a limp dish rag mode.)
We are headed into the weekend and the “to do” list is long. There are the usual suspects: laundry, shopping, cooking. There’s the hallway, there’s the garden. Company is coming midweek and there are two bedrooms to make ready, a not inconsequential task. Warren is on a stepladder in the hallway as I finish this.
The plate is spilling over.
I’ll wipe it up later. This post wore me out. I’m going to go take a nap.