SALVES AND OINTMENTS

Not Me, I don't think

I try not to be too ambitious.  Projects around my house have to stay within reasonable limits.  If I can't do it myself, I'll have to pay to have it done, or ask my kids to help.  I would rather pay for help, because I'm psychologically "saving up" all the asks for family help for when I am in my eighties.  That's my strategy for now, anyway.  But then money is tight, so I'm back to doing it myself.

I've got fifteen yards of free wood chips in my driveway at the moment.  Is there anything better than fifteen yards of free wood chips from local tree trimming companies? They smell great.  They steam in the cool of the morning.  Watching this massive pile of roiling bacteria transports me back to the primordial landscapes of Yellowstone.  And, wood chips are fantastic for the garden.  They turn into the best, richest dirt when used for mulch.  This ends my gushing about woodchips, because now I-- and I alone-- must move them to the far back of my property, one wheelbarrow at a time. 

Getting a wood chip delivery was a lot funner when Ted was here.  He did most of the work, or at least half -- even when it was my idea.  Now that I'll have to do his half as well as my half, I'm trying not to get injured.  I'm pacing myself.  That's a real challenge because of the fearlessness of widowhood. 

The fearlessness of widowhood comes from being hurt so badly that you're certain nothing can hurt you ever again.  That may be true, but I doubt it.  It's something I'm on the lookout for, since I've had some mishaps because of this sense that I can't be hurt.  For example, when Ted died, I didn't have much patience for people -- far less than I ever did, and I wasn't the most patient and tolerant person to begin with.   I can think of more than a few times I shot my mouth off, and hurt somebody.  I became more willing to take risks, both psychological as well as physically.  I got very close to some grizzly bears in the wild on a trip to Vancouver.  Thank god there were a lot of salmon in the river that year for them to feed on.  I remember frearlessly deciding to pull a wire fence taut using my Kabota.  The result was wire fencing that got wrapped around me so fast, I was like a human enchilada  inside a wire tortilla.  It's a wonder I didn't put my eye out.  I had to lay down to roll the fence off of me. 

Being a widow is a lot more work than being part of a duo.  More work physically, more work psychologically.  First aid has to be part of a widow's survival strategy, although some injuries are beyond salves and ointments.  Not even time can heal a broken heart, as every widow knows.  Time teaches a widow to temper ambitions with realism.  Get used to it.  Adjust.  That's what time will do. 

Meanwhile, I am out there, wheelbarrowing.  Loving that steam, loving that smell.  Making progress.  I found an excellent link for first aid from the Mayo Clinic, shared here.  Everything that can be aided is pretty much here on this chart.  The rest of what can hurt you but can't be aided is, well, quite off the charts.


Mayo Clinic First Aid Resources