BY ONE SLOW WHEEL WORN DOWN

 66 of #100daychallenge

Seriously, who really wants to get up to vacuum? Or bring in the trash barrels? I don't even want to grind the coffee that may lead to less aversion to life. On the other hand, I am up and I did bring in the trash barrels and make my bed, so creeping towards that housework that needs be done in the next two hours.

In other news, my temporary crown fell out again.

Well, we decided to move yoga class back to Joseph's as we forgot to move the props. I am relieved as I don't have to rush around to clean the house and can continue (or not) in a less frantic affect.

Later that same day.

Yoga was good, particularly because more than one of us was out of sorts, tired, and/or grumpy. That had us in accord without having to do any chanting or anything. I wonder if I could get these folks to do an "om" ... I will have to listen harder to their "namaste." I think they all say it.

I have been slightly depressed, sort of moving through not-quite-solidified jello. Spacier and less alert than I should be for some tasks. I treated myself to a big poke salad and then took a long nap with McCoy and Vera. I am not sure that I ever woke up again.

However, I did stumble out to water the plants. Having just put the fig tree into the ground (or the pool as the case may be), I want to make sure it gets acclimated. There are now four figs "under construction" and I am pretty psyched about it. While watering I found that my wisteria, long thought to be dead, but now thriving, is about to bloom! This late in the season as I think they tend to be spring bloomers in this area.

Then I headed out to the front to dead head, the cosmos and the zinnias mostly. I wish I could as easily dead head my belongings. Dead head my dread. I feel a lot of dread and weariness. I should work up some song lyrics to Al Green's Love and Happiness with "dread and weariness." But there is something to the dead head process: making room for the new. Seeing what is there and healthy. I am just not in the mood to coax myself to optimism.

INSTEAD OF A JOURNEY

Turn like a top, spin on your dusty axis

Till the bright metal shines again, your head

Hums, and the earth accelerates,

Dizzy, you drop

Into this easy chair you drowse in daily,

Sit there and watch the walls assume their meaning,

The Chinese plate assert its blue design,

The room renew itself as you grow still.

Then, after your flight and fall, walk to the garden

Or at the open window, taste return:

Weather and season, clouds at your vision’s rim,

Love’s whims, love’s habitation, and the heart

By one slow wheel worn down, whetted to gladness.

— Michael Hamburger, Collected Poems, 1941-1994, Anvil Poetry Press, London, 1995