Rooted

I woke up still in pain from yesterday’s headache. A long, lonely, and unscheduled day stretched before me. I lounged in bed for longer than usual, but my mood was in a downward spiral. Hunger and pain vied for my attention.

I brushed my teeth and wiped away yesterday’s mascara, which had crept down my face after a few moments of just-because sobs. I blinked on some fresh mascara, brushed some blush across my cheeks. I grabbed a notecard and my keys and took myself to breakfast.

There are many reasons to think of my dear Grandma Steele. She was creative and funny and cultivated some of my best qualities. These days, though, I think of her as I move through the lonely days when I have only myself for company. She was widowed and waved goodbye as her youngest son and his family pulled out of her circle drive to move three states away in the same week. She likely had some form of agoraphobia, which did not help the isolation she must have felt after Grandpa died, and we were long-distance.

I can relate to Grandma’s self-isolation. More than I care to admit, if I’m honest. But I saw what it did to her mind over time, and I have no interest in my mind deteriorating like hers did. And so, to Allin’s Diner I went. The restaurant was pretty full, so I opted to sit at the counter. I placed my order and pulled out my notecard to write my Saturday letter to the Martins. My letter writing caught the attention of fellow diners at the counter. So few write letters anymore.

With each bite of carb and protein, I could feel hunger and headache recede. My appetite is greater when surrounded by people even if I’m a party of one. I returned to my notecard hoping to find room for another bite or two and struck up a conversation with one of the servers. She had a beautiful tattoo. The bee climbing on a honeycomb caught my attention. She shared that she’d been a beekeeper and this bit of sharing made my day. Look at all the things we miss about each other when we only trade pleasantries. I paid my bill and wished those around me a good day.

As I pulled out of the parking lot I took a right turn. I wasn’t quite ready to go back home to the silence. Buying flowers to usher in the new season is medicine. A recent search for beauty at the local nursery had lifted my spirits. Today I was prepared to bring some blooms home. It was good to confront the disappointment that came with my shoulder injury and how it had disqualified me from puttering in my garden all summer. Mother Nature whispered to me, “It’s not too late. Go ahead. Get your hands dirty. Put some plants in pots!”

I pulled out a camp chair and sat in the shade of my porch. I admired my efforts and how the colors really did make my front walk look more inviting. In no time, my new blossoms invited butterflies and bees to drink from their inventory. Watching them fly and land, up and down, blossom to blossom was more engrossing than anything on television. My shoulders dropped. My inhalations and exhalations deepened. Nature nurtures me, and I am committed to spending more time on my porch as the temperatures drop and the season grows more golden. There’s still time for dreaming before the season’s lights turn out.