sacred shit ... (finally, friday)

I kid not ... it had been one of those weeks (that was quickly turning into two weeks and showed no signs of losing steam) 

let's see ... I hurt my back, then I was sick with my first cold in years, then we discovered a leak in our dishwasher that turned out to have deposited water under the adjacent cabinets which wicked up the moisture and began to rot and mold(!) and sun apparently went on a walk-about leaving us with cold, rainy, damp days (and days ... and days ...)

The going was rough my friends, and the only option left to me that held any crumbs of hope ...

the horses ... or more precisely, the therapeutic work that is cleaning stalls a.k.a., shoveling shit. (actually, the poop isn't so odious, it it uncovering and drying out the noxious pee spots ... some of these horses excel in hiding dribbles and puddles under seemingly pristine bedding. But I am a master pee dowser!) 

This place has been my salvation. Just one morning (and many, many many buckets of sacred poop later) and I not only feel Spring returning to my weary soul, but signs abound that indeed, vitality and hope are in my cards and in my future.

 

I am a believer once again. Oh, there was a moment I had my car keys in my hand, wild-eyed and frantic to escape (and I still might, renovations on the kitchen have not yet begun)  but the heaping dose of sunshine and horse love are enough to keep me going. For the time being. Fortunately, I can always run to the barn when things get rough and know there are friendly faces waiting for me. And stalls to muck. Always, stalls to muck! 

distracted (paying attention)

Spring draws me outdoors and thankfully, out of my self.  More precisely, the activities of spring distract me from habitual pursuits of navel-gazing. 

 I am hopeful for my new garden boxes.  This past weekend we filled them with tomato and pepper plants, a Japanese eggplant and lots of herbs: cilantro, basil, sage, rosemary, chive and prairie onion.  I've also filled pots with mint, lemon balm, and thyme.  Each year I marvel at my vast collection of terracotta pots and slowly fill them with geraniums in as many colors as I can find.  It is my garden center scavenger hunt.

Meanwhile, Cowgirl and I stay busy watching the progress of the two robins' nests situation on the drainpipe and outdoor lights of our neighbor's house.  (We have a nest of grackles tucked way up high under one of our roof lines.) 

 These baby birds keep us on our toes.

In recent months, I've become aware of the necessity of carrying my new(ish) reading glasses with me ... seems to be a trend towards smaller print these days.  A rare excursion to buy new shorts (I tend towards mail order ... never have to leave my house!) found me in a fitting room wondering about the poor quality of modern lighting (candlelight being much more soothing and energy efficient, don't you think?) ... those lumpy masses in the mirror couldn't be my legs?

It seems my eyes prefer spring-time sights.  Even my painting seems to be youth-oriented:

My handsome boy as he appears to me.  I'm certain I appear equally vibrant and bright-eyed to him.  

It isn't the dog days of summer just yet, but with school out (!) it is all I can do to keep tap dancing through my days.  Squeezing in time to write, paint, sew, and garden ...

while keeping one Cowgirl busy will either prove to be my secret youth serum or what brings me to my knees. 

Either way, I will have good company. 

(Moose has started therapy for low thyroid function and has moments of perkiness!  There is still some issue with his bloodwork,  but x-rays did not reveal anything "too awful" according to our Vet who is mildly concerned.  Of course, I tend towards the anxious end of the spectrum, but am following my boy's lead and attempting to chillax.)