It was actually a bit cooler this morning. When Charlie and I went out around 7 a.m. I glanced at the thermometer hanging on the fence and saw it was 80 degrees.
There was the slightest bit of a breeze that sent the wind chimes dancing with the sound of water flowing from the fountain in the background. A lovely combination of mellow music.
A soft rain began to fall. It felt good tip-tapping on my shaved head.
I shave it every week or so because I like it that way. The freedom of it. The independence from having to fuss with my hair.
Growing up, and all my life, I tried so hard to fit in. To say the right things. And now I’m more secure with myself.
I suppose my shaved head is a symbol of my independence from once feeling so timid and diminished.
It is my way of saying: “This is who I am. Like me or not. Judge me if you must. I no longer care.”
I walk around taking photos, as I always do. Then I pause and gently lift the big velvety leaves of the wide swath of Lamb’s Ear and pull out the dead leaves underneath.
I flashed back to when I was a child. This was reminiscent of when I would go into the hen house and lift the hens to latch onto the warm eggs underneath.
The hens would make little clucking sounds, letting me know they didn’t much like my intrusion into their dark shadowy little world.
Did you know that chickens growl? Hens commonly make this noise when they’re sitting on eggs and someone disturbs them. It’s a warning sound and may be followed by an attack or a peck.
When I went back outside I had to locate the big rooster before I could make a dash for the gate because it would run at me and peck my legs.
Back to the Lamb’s Ear. It may sound silly. But I thank the brown leaves underneath for the beauty they had given me before they withered and turned brown.
Before the new leaves on top shadowed them from the sun and crowded them out.
I talk to the plants, cajole them to bloom, coddle them like I am the guardian and they are my children.
I have an abundance of little tomatoes. Sometimes I pop one in my mouth as I walk about the patio. They are so tasty as the juice squirts into my mouth.
The last two nights I’ve eaten chicken tacos with spring greens. And my cherry tomatoes with a sprinkling of pepper jack cheese on top.
I add a little bowl of pinto beans to complete my meal.
I look to the two trees; the butterfly tree and the Japanese Maple, both in pots. They have done so well in their containers and are so beautiful. I will have to find even bigger pots soon to transplant them into.
I’ve already transplanted Jade, the Gingko Biloba jade butterfly tree, into a bigger pot once already. And then I took that container and planted the Japanese Maple in it I got last spring.
Charlie sniffs about, sneezes. Dr. Poteet and I talked on the phone last weekend and he has me giving him Zyrtec. I found the generic, much cheaper at Amazon, and ordered that.
My allergies are terrible this year too. I usually don’t have this rough a time of it. Something in the air is different this year.
I come inside and dole out Charlie’s morning meds and feed the pets.
As soon as Ivy hears me she comes into the kitchen and paces up and down until I take her bowl back to the bedroom where I feed her up on a table so Charlie can’t get to it.
It’s far too rich for his delicate tummy.
Charlie snuffles up his egg and looks to me for his treat. His treats are actually soft little pockets I sneak his pills inside so he will swallow them.
And we go on with our morning routine.
Charlie is now asleep against my legs in the recliner. Ivy is snoozing on the couch.
The ceiling fans send the wind chimes tinkling. I stare out the French doors at my plants on the patio.
I am content. With myself. With my little apartment.
I feel whole.