There are so many punchy jokes I could have made here yesterday, admitting that the reason I was not up for celebrating Mother’s Day was because the next day (today) I was scheduled for a colonoscopy. Anyone who knows the routine understands that even brunch is a no no on the day before. Dinner? Out of the question. (Remarkably, one can still ingest wine, albeit white wine, but after jugs of apple juice and white grape juice, the last thing you want it juice of any kind, including fermented and with alcohol.)
The reason not to poke fun of picking this day to not eat is because colonoscopies are not really funny. Too many people avoid them, too many results are suboptimal – it’s all part of getting older, even as, if truth be told, my first colonoscopy and surgery on my colon were at age twelve. One of the many childhood traumas that I bring to the table.
This morning, Ed dropped me off at the hospital and then quickly departed. He’s a good sport about taking me places when I ask him, but he’ll seize any opportunity to not interact with the medical community. When I came to, we scooted out on his motorcycle before the hospital staff could hold us back and say – hey, when we asked that someone drive her home, we didn't mean on a biker's seat, with a milk crate as a back rest!
I was unconcerned. After all, Ed turned around every few blocks and asked if I was still awake. I was. Right up until we pulled into the driveway. After that, I promptly dozed off on a chair outside, on the wood chipped driveway. Eventually I woke up.
And now I’m just full of appreciation – among other things, for the foods I can eat. (When I was told that for the week before the procedure I should avoid eating fruits, veggies, grains and nuts, I thought – well what else is there? Needless to say, I cheated.)
I did not work much in the garden today. I walked the rows of strawberries, noting that all the ripening fruits were nibbled on by our resident chipmunk. I’m going to have a shouting match with him before the season’s over, that’s for sure. The Hmong farmers have planted berries all around us and they appear to harvest a significant number of them for the farmers markets. So why do the chipmunks come to our small motley assortment? I cannot answer that.
In the evening, I planted five, yes only five tomatoes out back. That’s unremarkable. But what was remarkable and is always remarkable is the big willow we pass every time we walk to our orchard out back. We have two such willows, but this one is bigger, mightier, coddled by hours of unobstructed sunshine.
The willow has to be older than I am. Its branches are as unruly and untamed as my hair, its roots mess with everything below, but it is beautiful especially in the morning and in the evening, when the wind tussles its branches this way and that.
...with the red sheep shed peeking through at the lower end.
What a beautiful May 14th! What an absolutely splendid day!