Weekend Thoughts on a Spring Day

I am physically exhausted. It feels good. Cleaning, sorting, weeding, dancing. I have managed to fill up my day alone. I did meet the new neighbors when we were all headed to the beach. They bought four doors down as a second home.

Maria across the street chatted with me for a moment as I stepped out of the front gate.  I walked one dog and played ball with the other. I watched two lives streams, and a third starts in ten minutes. I know I will enjoy the piano playing, but maybe it will put me to sleep.

The weather is sunny but a but brisk.  I potted a bunch of plants and should water them all. Tomorrow is supposed to be warmer.

I haven’t driven anywhere today.  It’s been one for a putterer. I wrote a little, did some framing projects, sorted a tub, put some books on a bookcase.  I painted the living room this winter, and it still isn’t completely back together. Moving furniture alone is hard.

The neighbor wants to shop my apron tubs. She gets too close on our shared driveway. No mask. She looks inside my car, the hatch up. She comments on my potting soil purchase.

“What are you planting? Something good, I hope?”

I tell her about the gopher.

“My cats usually get those.”

Nope. This gopher has been decimating any and all plants in the ground.  How many succulents have I potted since they started to wilt where they were planted?

I unburied the extra-long bunkbed parts in the garage.  My worker woman will bring them all back in her truck the next time she comes. I wondered why I was saving it, and now I’m glad that I did. One more large piece of furniture out of my garage, which is now filled with the tubs my ex had at his house for the kids. He is leaving the state, cashing out and going north.  It might be a good thing. We shall see.

In the meantime, I am the default storer.  Kids are still in transition, one on a finite job on the East coast, another headed to grad school. She complained that she has lost almost two years of her 20s to the pandemic.

My twenties were a blur of dates.  Every guy I met in Omaha got at least one date if they asked. Then the elimination process began:  smoker? No.  Too frisky on the first date? No. Too sad? No.  Too short?  No.

Too drunk? No. They usually didn’t call for a second date. We both knew there was no chemistry or future.

Now I look back at that and see how hopeful I was, looking for that perfect guy, really not good at flirting.  Sometimes I missed the cues that someone was firting with me.  I looked away, too afraid of rejection. Also, I wanted someone who wanted more than a bed partner, so there was that.

I get how my kids feel cheated with the pandemic. They are young, in the prime of their lives, two of them without a mate yet.

My friends act as though it’s over. The governor has declared June 15th as opening day in California.

The experts say a 4th wave is coming, the new variant strains headed across the country faster than people can get vaccinated. My scientist children say we will need booster shots forever.

Will we ever get back to where we were?

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