“Oh, what a week. I’m sure you know what I mean. Because your week, also, was likely something you could never describe, without reducing it to ridiculous proportions. “I did this, I did that’. No. It was so much more. It’s okay, if no one else understands, at least for now. But I understand. Perhaps one of my stories, can serve as a template. We pulled into the job: a new Airbnb rental, needing flower power. Sometimes you get a whiff, of what’s to come. A road including the word “Dynamite”, for starters. As I said, we pulled in, innocently enough, truck full of plants, ready to rock and roll. But there was a guy there, with a truck in the way, so we parked accordingly. Sauntering up to him, ready to be educated, we asked a few basic questions. He was friendly enough. “None of the outdoor spigots are working. and the septic guy just spilled over there.” We stood, a bit stunned, habituated to being accommodating, while pulling in the aroma of fresh feces, and liquid. “Uh, can we get in the house, and, uh” ... “get water from the kitchen sink?”, my partner asked, meekly. Then growing in stature, she moved in a bit closer to the point. “These plants are going to need to be watered. I mean, they are going to need watered, for at least a couple of weeks, or they’ll die.” We stood breathless, in the void of his lack of response. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, he was a young, possibly clueless, property manager, on his first assignment. We had over 30 plants to install, including a shrub or two. I waited until he was gone, to breathe in, and on the out-breath, I sighed a huge sigh of resignation. We’ll handle it, was my thought. We would handle it, I knew that, because the older you are, the more you know how to work around deficiencies. We’d been dodging bullets all week, wrestling cell service as we traveled into the hinterlands of Vermont, waiting for critical medical results on an app, concerning a beloved family member, while also receiving news of an unexpected death, parked in range of WiFi, at a remote, general store. The summer lakes have appeared placid and inviting, none-the-less, while internally, our emotional receptors remain on full alert. Talk about bifurcation. I feel the split, and seek to mend it, with every incursion of my trowel. Stopping for coffee, a sandwich, or a pastry, continues to be remarkably healing. Maintaining, some semblance of normalcy, is often all that is necessary. To reaffirm our lives, as lives worth living.”
