Tipping Point

Today is the saddest day of the year for me.

Today is the day I admit defeat. Today is the day I come to grips with the reality of massive tree trunk that fell onto my hosta bed last summer that will never be picked up and moved. It will have to rot way to dust before the hostas can come up in that spot again.

Today is the day I have to admit that the pile of bricks I have waiting to line the sidewalk beds will be staying there at least until next year. Maybe longer.

Today is the day that my flowerbeds will never be rid of the weeds that I’ve been planning to remove so the flowers can flourish. Until very recently I used to kid myself that I could still paint a room trim and all in 8 hours. Last time I tried it, it took 3 weeks and somebody else had to do the trim at the ceiling. I wouldn’t even begin to delude myself that I can bend forward on these knee joints to pull weeds.

Today is the day I look at the spindly failures in my deck flower pots and wonder when I lost my touch with even non-challenging impatiens and begonias. I walk past the corpses of the fuchia plants every day.

Still, the summer days are counting down and it’s only a matter of time until there’s no more deck time. I’m already swept up in the preparation for vaccination season and mark my days by their relation to timelines that end in September, October, December, March.  It makes it harder to live in the present. I resent every day that rains or that’s too humid to sit out. But even among the floral death spiral, there’s still no place I’d rather be.

Well, it’s seems to be quite the morose pity party going on here, does it not? These are all real concerns for me but I will say that I’m dieting right now and the beginning stages where the cumulative results are small and there’s little satisfaction of achievement is always a difficult time for me, in terms of defeatism. Combine that with my plan to have a cocktail only once a week. My practice in summer is to sit outside in the evening with  some gin, read bit of whatever book I’m working through and keep the binoculars nearby in case some magnificent silver bird flies low on it’s approach to Newark Liberty airport. Loss of the cocktail takes away some dependable mellowing and it’s one more thing that I like but I don’t have.

I suppose it will pass. I’m sure it will. As soon as a real problem pops up. Until then, I take note that this is the saddest day of the year for me.

The scene of former floral glory. Even the dog is depressed.

5 thoughts on “Tipping Point”

  1. With so many things to bring you down, I recommend a cocktail twice a week, three times daily until your mood improves. If that doesn’t work, double the cocktail amount until your’e better.

  2. “Combine that with my plan to have a cocktail only once a week. ”

    I’m told that in Indo-European the word ‘week’ actually means an hour.

    You can thank me later.

  3. I get that same feeling every year at about this time. My sister died on Aug 3 six years ago leaving 9 and 11 year old sons. Even before that early August has been exactly what you describe. The realization that it’s too late to get most of the summer projects done.
    But, then we get a beautiful September and half of October and all is well. Good luck with your diet, it should kick in soon with a measurable loss.

  4. I feel your pain. Are you feeding your flowers? My watermelons were the size of golf balls until I flooded them with Miracle Grow.

    You could always move South were the summers are longer. In Sandy Eggo, our growing season is pretty much year round.

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