Stress? What Stress?

 

It is raining almost daily. No fires close to me. Vrbo is booking at a good pace. Flowers are blooming in my flower beds. So what is to stress about?

Threat of hail. Smoke drifting in from Arizona fires. A bad apple or two with guests. With flowers see the threat of hail. Things I can do nothing about.

Or is my stress all about not having time in my schedule to do the usual stress reduction things? Have not allowed myself to sit on my new garden benches and drink coffee as if I had all the time in the world. Or grab my camera and head to the high plains grasslands totally ignoring the flash flood warnings in the burn scar area I would drive through. Or paint chairs. Or reupholster my big chairs. Or print cards. You have a question about the last? It is rather routine: print, cut to size, glue to card stock, affix labels, pair with envelopes and put in clear envelopes. Gandhi, it is said, mediated by spinning fiber into yarn. My friend Carol, who just moved into a new house, is painting walls. How I envy her. I loved painting my apartment and transforming it into the vrbo it now is. Not as fond of this part.

But this part was suppose to allow me time to sit on the deck in my new benches I made and drink coffee. Instead there is the garden shed to assemble once I get the deck built it sits on. The two, instead of four, boxes the shed parts are in still remains on the front yard. The boxes are eight feet long and weigh 60 plus pounds each. Handiman who was going to help me move them to place of assembly rolled his pickup. He should not lift anything. Including the weedeater to finish up the back yard of the vrbo. Add that to my list. My growing list.

Stress? What stress? That the list gets longer and not shorter. That I cannot make the powers that be in my current life see the errors of their ways. That the gross receipts tax filing which used to be routine spent the covid lockdown redesigning it yet again and I dread doing it. That a long term dog sit has to have her dressing changed daily and she doesn't like it. I do not like making her submit to it. That at eight last night just as I was heading to bed, another dog owner called and asked me to go find her dog. Shouldn't dog whisperers have office hours? Do I apply for The Gallery at Music from Angel Fire or give up painting entirely.

I need a sign for the internet: Gone fishing. Something I would never do in the height of tourist season. But when I was a kid I loved to go fishing. I always sought out a place away from the rest of the family and after catching a fish or two would unbait my hook and just sit there. Line in the water and look like they were not biting.