24 June 2011

I was trapped in transit

With summer, a lot of burdens fell away.

The first part of the week, the kids did nothing but sleep. I still rose at my accustomed early hour, but with a sense of relief rather than one of resignation and dread.

But there are enormous changes on the horizon.

It's been warmer with little gloom, mostly sunny, in the 80sF, with cool breezes as evening approaches. The air makes my skin tingle. The smell of jasmine, buddleia, and gardenia makes me sneeze (but I like it anyway).

Today, the son and I went out in the morning to tidy up the front garden. He mowed the lawn that I am hopeful to part with sooner rather than later, while I cut back the jasmine, buddleia and gardenia (sneezing), as well as the camellias, and I cleaned out the dead plants in the window boxes--the plumber somehow managed to turn off their water supply when we had the water/gas fiasco at Christmas. They've been dead for awhile, taunting me, but climbing around shrubs and walls has not been my strong suit of late.

Usually, an hour or two in a morning, and I have all the beds cleared and trimmed, but now, of course, that would be more than optimistic. I was happy to get the one straightened out, especially since I'd done the other a month or so ago when I washed the windows. I've acknowledged--though I don't want to fully admit--that I'll need help with the heavier jobs in the future. Climbing ladders is probably a thing of the past. I am stubborn, but I'm not stupid.

The summer stretches before me, usually a time with a sense of possibility. Now, a time of responsibility. Time to revisit the concept of "orthodontist" (poor daughter), to put the son to work, to plan for what lies ahead for the two of them.

But the breeze brushes against my arms, and I shiver slightly with the memory of warmer winds, running wild and barefoot on starlit nights filled with the scent of jasmine and mock orange. I close my eyes and I can almost imagine the moment when I shed my skin and head toward the sky. I want to throw aside the necessary and revisit the possible.

I want to jump ship. I want to follow my own compass, which is pointing with such determination to points unknown.

If only for a day, an hour.

Go listen to some good music: "Mutiny, I Promise You" from the album Challengers by The New P*rnographers. Yup, this is what happens when my plans are thwarted.

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