Clinging

He really wants a hug, sometimes. Purring madly, clinging on. Enjoyed the mild March day, wandered to sit in all his spots. Got to see off a neighbor cat who agreed that a different route would be perfectly acceptable, and would just not even bother coming in that yard at all, excuse me. Strange looking black & white cat with a permanently surprized expression, a habitué of the neighborhood. Moby crouched quite menacingly, and I was there, of course on the other end of the lead, to reinforce the threat. I took him out morning and afternoon, which is good for me as well. To feel the season changing.

Some disintegration of the sandstone foundation, and a break in the concrete of the front porch. Nothing to be done right now, but I'm aware. Maybe next year we will be able to get both fixed. A bit of quick-crete to fix the porch this summer. Planted some lettuce, we shall see how that goes. I'm betting on at least one more good snowstorm, but the weather is changing, and anything could happen. Found some light green paint for the grey concrete blocks of the backing wall of the garden. Looks much less dreary out there, now. I will add a strawberry in red spray paint in time. More digging.

Looked up last year's March posts. I was further behind, and going through more. More grief, more uncertainty, then. My hips are not doing as well this year, and my energy is down. I think I shoveled too much over the winter, and started the garden too early. Reminding myself to slow down, not expect quite so much, certainly not the week of the damn time change.

We set the clocks back on Friday evening, which helped a bit, but makes it no lighter in the mornings going to work. Impatient to try again, get everything growing. Lacking the power to do much. So stiff, everything hurting. Doing my PT more, managing. I wasn't wrong when I thought that was the last move I had in me. I could not move again. They take my body out of this house, hopefully after it's paid off. Don't care who gets it. Probably one of D's nephews, to sell and send his kids, or grandkids to college. In 30 years, the world will have spun a few times, and nothing is certain.

Sat on the porch this evening, reading, listening to the Spare Change* couple screaming hoarsely at each other. Held each other's hands, glad that we don't shout at each other. Anything worth yelling is better solved with a lawyer. But shouters get high off the rage, feed it, nurture it, blame everyone else. I kept laughing at the raw swearing. This is several houses down and across the street. If there were any children involved, I'd've called the cops. They know this couple well anyway.

Good to have a day, haven't really done nothing. Just feels like not enough.





*There is a rather infamous beggar in Boston, with a hoarse voice that carries blocks, shouting "Spare change!" To the point that he has an internet presence now. This couple sounds like him, both of them do. Hectoring and audible blocks away.