Just petals on the wind

This was our cherry tree, but it's gone now.

I've let myself be blown about lately, just petals on the wind. NaNoWriMo? What was that I was doing? But I am happy to say that I planted 64 tulips, and had no physical problems. I felt so good that I almost canceled my doctor's appointment for Tuesday the 13th. But I did go, and was shocked when she took my odd on and off again stuff seriously enough to refer me to neurologist. Well I'm sure the neurologist will be dismissive, but I'll have to wait at least four months to find out.

     I let that information carry me farther away, by wondering whether I should or shouldn't take her concerns that I make sure I don't have MS seriously. An unsettled energy invaded me, making me a restless errand runner, flitting about in my car from place to place in pursuit of nothing of particular importance, hoping the pace would offer some peace. Of course I have decided there is no point in concerning myself about it, too many various possibilities, and too much time between wondering and knowing to waste with worrying.

    But still it is in my nature to research. So instead of writing and working on my novel, I take books with various illness titles out of the library and read them. Some seem a possible fit in some ways, but not at all in others. Things can be symptoms of things, but can also be nothing. And when I sit at my computer, I don't go to NaNo, I google health stuff. And so it is that I have landed on MS versus Celiac Disease. Apparently there are a lot of neurological things that can go on with Celiac. So starting the day after Thanksgiving I'll be starting a 4 week gluten free trial to see if my whatever they ares improve. Which means more research and reading for a gluten free diet, and lots of time spent reading the backs of packages at the grocery store.

   At times this past week I have been super frustrated with myself for this waste of time and energy. But forget it, I'm cutting myself some slack. My doctor intentionally worded it, to try and scare me- talking about plaques on my brain building up and getting worse over time. Verbally she threw ice cold water all over me, so of course I'm going to take notice. She did this so I would actually do the follow up appointments and testing. She seemed shocked that I had let this stuff accumulate over the past year without coming to see her, and I was shocked that she thought I should have. So honestly what other response but concern could I conjure.

Hopefully now-I've adjusted and adapted. Reminding myself nothing has actually changed. Tests ordered to rule stuff out are common procedure. So I'm getting out of those cold water soaked clothes, and dressing in something warm and dry. Mentally I needed to fray, but now I need to mend. Time to be getting back on track, settled down and working on writing (and a bit of cleaning. Where oh where is my house elf?).

Actually it is reassuring to know that when I have looked up all the info I can and can't go any further with figuring any of this stuff out, and I am too tired to run any more senseless errands (both of which are points I have reached already), that there is this other world waiting for me. A world roughly written across two notebooks. A place I can get lost, and found, in. Now if only I can imagine typing this stuff up like it is a warm bath I am stepping into, rather than like it is masses of great tangled Christmas tree lights, I shall be forever untangling.

The squirrels unplanted 12 of my tulips- they do that again and...and...I'll..I'll (okay I'll probably just shake my fist at them, but I'll imagine myself flinging them about the yard by their tales. Oh yes PETA that is what I'll be imagining)

   

Lost to time. Feels like February. Last week my son only had school on Friday thanks to Sandy's power outages. Our power went out five times, but fortunately came back on minutes later. That week felt like holiday break without the holiday. Not festive, more bleak than break. Grey and cold. I can't imagine what it was like for those without power, and for those hit hard along the shore. I still can't find images of Ocean City, New Jersey, I search though am afraid of what I'll find.

My husband's brother died last week. I really didn't know him. He suffered from schizophrenia. He was plagued by memories of horrible things- that never actually happened. Do to the severity of his illness in a way my husband lost him years ago. My husband talks of the boy he knew, of the times they shared. I sense the depth of my husband's pain. And he is grieving most, for a life that didn't get to truly be. For all that could have been, should have been, but wasn't, and now for certain, never can be. I am not sure, what, if anything, comes after this form of being, but I pray. And I pray that he is somewhere, restored and well. And that some of the wonderful that he missed out on here will be part of his future.

It is November. I have to keep telling myself, not January or February. Look the fields are still green and gold. If any trees yet hold their leaves they are russet. I am trying to do National Novel Writing Month, but struggling with it. Which becomes more surprising when you consider- that I am cheating- so far I'm only typing up stuff I have already written. So I should be much much farther. I wrote some new stuff for JAD 2 this week,which is good, maybe next NaNo I can type that stuff up. And this weekend I'm bound not to make up for lost time. It is supposed to be nice out, and I have tulips waiting to be planted. The cold weather ushered me indoors before I finished. There are holes left in the dirt, waiting.

I have had a good week and a half- no real physical problems. That said, I am a tiny bit afraid to plant my tulips. Last time I did yard work, about two weeks ago- I got fiercely dizzy. I was fine digging holes and transplanting- but standing still, and walking were awful. I staggered about the yard, walking on an invisible seesaw. Standing still felt like falling backward, and sitting down like falling through the ground. Eh so I am not so keen on repeating that experience. But if I have learned anything this past year, it is that if I expect problems, I'll be just fine so I'll feel like a neurotic headcase for having been concerned. It is only when I don't expect any trouble that I could be in for it. So I'll expect the worst, assuming that will bring me the best, and hope the universe doesn't call me out on this strategy.

It will hit me hard if I can't muck about the yard properly anymore. Because if I can't do it, it wont happen. My husband doesn't understand the importance of flowers. How I dream of them in winter. I love the magic in it, the dark cold days, the heavy white blankets of snow that recede revealing a barren landscape, that bursts forth into blooms. Rows of happy petaled faces, smiling in the sunshine, waving in the wind. What they mean to me, visually, emotionally, it is like planting joy. (oh yeah I went there, full on corny. And I'm not stepping back.) He will never plant them, feeling that if I can't do it, that is proof that we need to streamline, make life easier for ourselves; we should get rid of the ones we already have. He doesn't have the time or energy to do it (which is true). And feels I should save myself for maintaining the house, which includes stuff like moping. I hate moping, I'd much rather dig a hole. I told him that last week, he said, "I can tell." And so you can.