.comment-link {margin-left:.6em;}

Three score and ten or more

Saturday, August 07, 2010

I apologize

I really apologize for stinking up the blogosphere with my whining in my last post.  Yesterday I spent most of the day walking upright like a homo-sapiens, did some work, some water aerobics and generally acted like a normal human being. 

As I did, I reflected that many people don’t get though the mid-poiint of their seventies and many of those who do (some of my acquaintances) wish they hadn’t.  Neither Janet nor I are confined to either assisted living (at least not formally, it would be tough without the assistance of my children who live nearby) or a nursing home.  We sometimes have a functional day of only  four or five hours, but I spend  those hour in the company of the most wonderful woman I have ever known, who has health problems much more debilitating than mine and never (well, hardly ever) complains.  

In short, as I read what I said last post, I am a little—well really a lot= embarrassed.  I won’t promise never to go off on a whining tear again, but if I do, chalk it up to an unpleasant or painful day or week, and know that I will be back to normal (that is, normal for an old coot) soon.

I don’t have a picture yet, but I will post one of one of the things that cheered me up.  I was walking across the newly mowed lawn in my back yard a few weeks ago, and noticed a spot of red at my feet.  I thought for a moment it was a spot of blood, but when I got my bifocals focused I realized that it was a very tiny wild strawberry.   I was in the midst of  planting tomatoes in five gallon buckets (fairly successful) and in upside down planters (good bushes, no tomatoes) so I put some potting soiil in a large pot, and asked my son to shovel up that little bunch of plants.  We    plopped them at the top of four or five gallon flower pot and let nature take its course.

When I was a Missionary in Finland in the fifties, one of our favorite sports during our free time was to wander the woods looking for wild strawberries.  They were amazingly sweet and delicious though small.

These new wild strawberries are not the same.  They are a little  like red crunchy  cheerios, with very little flavor, but their enthusiasm for their new home is amazing.  The have over grown their pot, and are reaching out for new places.  I was interested yesterday how much pleasure I have had from these yellow flowered (I know, domestic strawberries have white blooms) semi edible little creatures.  I hope God looks down on me and my minor accomplishments with half as much pleasure in just watching the growing.


At 1:51 PM, Anonymous Kathleen said...

No apology needed! Glad to hear you are in brighter circumstances today. As for the wild strawberries, I fondly remember finding them off the Blue Ridge Parkway. They were delicious and not as you describe those in your yard. Though small, they packed ten times the flavor of domestic. Loved them! Maybe with your nurturing these will morph into those beauties I found in the mountains.

At 8:54 PM, Blogger Barry the Barbarian said...

You've got a decade on me but even I feel tired especially if I haven't had a good sleep. I console myself by telling myself that aging makes facing death easier.


Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home