Concrete things

This is what my yard looked like after I went after it yesterday. For some of us who work with our heads for a living, and whose work does not always give immediate results, it is gratifying to do various types of physical labor. Because then one can see a product--something concrete and satisfying from one's labor. For me, that means cooking. It also means hacking and chopping tree branches.

Yesterday afternoon, I came home early and wanted to crash. But my grief had me feeling pent up inside. I needed something to work it out. Our rental property just happens to be covered with trees, bushes, and all manner of vines, and overgrown whatnot. The man who owns the property told us to have at it and do whatever we felt we wanted with it. So I had no end of branches to cut off. With a small handsaw I chopped down a 20 foot Hibiscus tree. The flowers were lovely, but the roots go under the foundation and the branches almost completely obscure a window at the side of the house. After that, I hit the tangerine tree with pruning scissors and saw. That tree has been full of old dry leaves in clumps, all through the branches. I went after it with a broomstick and knocked down dust and bits of twigs and leaves. It now looks like a half-way normal tree.

The dead peach tree went down with little fanfare. I started hacking at what used to be someone's Christmas tree. It had become half dead and had very snarly branches with lots of dry, dead pine needles. Fortunately for it, the blade on my saw gave out before I could chop it down. I'll save that for another day of horticultural Rambo frenzy. For now, the backyard is littered with heaps of dead branches, leaves, and logs.

I went to sleep last night around 9:00 p.m., completely exhausted.

I miss my father, and the knowledge that I can't call him tomorrow afternoon as I usually do, leaves me feeling empty. It seems that grief makes abstract, higher thought almost impossible. My head feels vacant, and I've been having a difficult time attending to very complicated tasks at work. This surprises me, because I have almost always felt invincible; that nothing could ever knock me sideways. But the death of my father has left a gaping hole in my heart and I marvel at the depth of my sadness.

Thankfully, life is full of all sorts of concrete tasks that I can accomplish. Today my office manager took a day off. I went after the office cupboards (that probably haven't been cleaned for four years). Three huge trash barrels later, and many amused guffaws from my students, the place was much cleaner and in order.

It is evening now, and I've cooked up some Moroccan Stew: eggplant, zucchini, currants, cinnamon, yams. Another concrete activity. It smells lovely.

Otis is on my lap as I write, occasionally batting at the cursor moving across the computer screen. I put a piece of scotch tape on his toes and his wild foot slinging to get rid of it makes me laugh hard. I still feel Sam's hugs from an earlier snuggle. Life goes on--just more slowly and thoughtfully. And I am grateful for all I have to enjoy.