About a week ago, while in town, I bought
some blousy summer tops (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/05/period-of-adjustment.html); the other day
while sorting clothes for laundry I saw that they were ALL hand washables! I
never buy hand washables, but I didn’t check the labels on these tops when I
bought them – widow’s fog has dulled my senses.
Frustration.
What now? After they are washed … hand or
otherwise … they need to be dried: can’t heat-dry them in the dryer, and I can’t
air-dry them on my shaded porch because that is not acceptable here at Heron Pointe
Park – backstabbing, murderous activity is allowed, but air-drying is not. What
to do? I wracked my brain for about 2 hours before thinking of the tall hanging
rack Bob had made for me out of PVC pipe for my Bazaar circuit when I was doing
that; now that he will no longer be going with me, I don’t think I will
continue that. Part of the fun of Bazaaring was doing things together – I designed,
crafted, sold, and took special orders - and he hauled bins in, schmoozed and
collected $$$ for the hours we were there. I man-handled the rack (that thing
is taller than I am) out of the foyer closet where it has been stored for the
past 23 months, down the hall, and into the spa tub in the master bathroom
where I set it up and hung my finicky clothing.
That rack was the perfect thing for my needs
:-D
And I did not even tear up when I saw it up
again. Kudos for me. I am growing and learning how to breathe without chest
constriction when I see/use things Bob built for me:
Re-purposed Bazaar Rack
To date, the frustrations with Candy aren’t going
to go away like Ron is, but I am learning to stand on my own two feet again
since Bob isn’t here to run interference anymore – thanks to the new friends I made in the Park recently since the
hostile blowout with Candy in the Park Office May 28th. Knowing I have
friendly support here is monumental: I don’t feel isolated and left to flounder
alone in uncharted waters: several of my near neighbors have knocked on my door
… or asked to enter my garden to offer their support following the fallout; and
to give me tips on ZFG Park survival.
Apparently living in a Park community is
vastly different than living in a normal community – there is more bickering
and favoritism. Who knew? Outside looking in, it looked so cheerful and
inviting. Bob always wanted to live here, and when opportunity arose (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2017/06/we-are-moving.html), we bought a
nice home here (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2017/06/new-home-d.html); but neither of
us knew 24 months ago that living here would cost his life (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2018/12/goodbye-2018-welcome-2019.html).
Beyond frustration.
To deal with the never ending frustrations as
I navigate the uncharted waters I have unknowingly been thrust into, I have
fallen back on an activity that relieves stress and balances me: walking. Every
time I walk around the park, I see something (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/05/get-out-and-walkabout-day.html) that catches my
interest and affirms hope that things will get better at some point …
White quartz with brown streak running through it. Interesting.
Second ‘Angel Penny’ found in just as many weeks …
There were lots of blossoms on my patio Apple
Trees in April, but all they seemed to produce were 3 apples that I saw yesterday
while mulching my garden beds:
APPLE!
Two more apples; if there are more than these 3, I sure couldn’t find them :-(
Frustration.
But everything in the garden boxes are doing
very well, and that kinds takes the sting out of the frustrations ;-)
My gardens have always been my “center” – I am
totally relaxed, and tend to lose track of time when I am in my garden. But my
aching back and knees take perverse delight in reminding me that I am no longer
a spring chick, but rather an old gray cow put out to pasture. LOL
Seeing the white feather near the shed door reminded
me that to the world at large I may look to be – and feel like – a worthless ‘old gray cow’, but Bob always saw me
as his young spring chick, and treated me like the Queen of his immediate
domain. I miss seeing, touching, and hearing Bob; and I miss the blessing of his
exclusive out-poured love.
Mega frustration. And a want; so strong it
hurt, to give him all my love I have for him that now has nowhere to go, overwhelmed
me …
Yesterday morning when I sat in Bob’s recliner
and glanced out the window at my border garden, I saw that one of the scalloped
bricks I had laid atop the bird netting to keep neighborhood cats out of my
carrot patch while it is sprouting, had been knocked off the box lip. Hmmm; one
of the neighborhood cats (which is
supposed to be on a leash; but the Park Rules Leash Law is constantly ignored
by the cat owners in the Park) must have slipped and knocked it off:
WTHeck. I know the wind did not knock that brick off the box edge ...
Frustration.
I put the brick back in place when I went out
to transplant scallions starts, and mulch my garden beds ....
Later on, in the afternoon when mulching was finished
for the day, I noticed while putting the hose away, that the hummingbird feeder
I had just filled the previous night was totally empty; and the front porch
railing – which is painted white – was
covered with, and stained with red drips and spills from the hummingbird
feeders hanging above it. I surveyed the situation with consternation, and
cleaned up the mess:
Drained Hummingbird Feeder. Half full last night.
I couldn’t believe that hummers were responsible for draining the feeders overnight, or staining my porch railing.
Pretty and greedy things that they are, and sometimes a little aggressive at the feeders, they surely are not strong enough to make such a mess. I am stumped.
I refilled the feeder and hung it back in
place: and this morning I noticed that the other feeder was half drained as
well, and the railing mess was considerably messier. What in the world?
I filled this feeder to the top yesterday afternoon, and it is half gone this morning.
What has been happening while I am sleeping
through the night?
I started cleaning up the mess again, and
THEN … I SAW IT … the tell-tale sign of raccoon activity ...
AHA! RACCOON!
Masked bandit strikes: I have trouble – B.I.G. trouble :-(
I gotta get on top of this or I will have Candy
bitching about that too as soon as she finds out there has been raccoon activity
at my pad – she is like a creeping snake with its ear to the ground waiting for
a chance to strike.
And who knows how the new neighbors will
react with a prowling raccoon in the immediate vicinity? An annoyed neighbor is
just as bad (if not worse, as we found
out with Ron) as a pillaging raccoon.
Migraine headache frustration with a Capital
F followed by unspoken expletives.
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