Today, I want to ask the universe for a redo. Not of today. Actually, today was fine. After I fed the horse and the donkeys, I gave the goats their AM peanut snacks, filled the one water dish I could pry from the frozen ground with unfrozen water to help melt the rest of the frozen water so the chickens could drink a bit, let the chickens out, gave the chickens their special seeds, drove into town to pick up alfalfa pellets for the rescue horse, grabbed water for the lab puppy since the well water doesn’t agree with her, went to talk to the guys about putting new flooring in the bathroom, grabbed a coffee I shouldn’t have wasted money on on the way home, came home, cooked breakfast, helped mom with what is probably the last Christmas project she will get to work on, and so on and so forth. (I should have scooped the donkey poop out of their two stalls, but I did not. Tomorrow it looks like time to clean the chicken coop and scoop other poop as well. Yeah.). In the whole scheme of things I am a super lucky individual. I’ve got a place to live. I have breakfast to cook. Hay I need to sell. In any case, I still want to ask the universe for a redo of the last decade. That’s not too much to ask, is it?
Actually, I’d take a redo for the last fourteen years or so. When I flew out of NYC on September 13, 2002, I didn’t really think of the timing until I was on the plane. Three weeks earlier I was looking at restarting life in NYC like I was looking at an endless mountain of meaningless moments. My friends were moving or had moved out of NYC, and I was working for a ticket broker which had nothing to do with anything I cared about in life. Though, I will admit I didn’t mind the occasional free dinner or tickets to a show so I could pitch the experiences to potential customers. My partner and I made every sales bonus possible at our desk, but when I found myself walking through Times Square after a twelve hour shift yelling at tourists to get out of my way, I knew something had to change.
The idea of starting over in NYC seemed pointless. When mom asked, “Why don’t you move home and help me retire?” I hadn’t thought of that as possible. Moving home wasn’t really a part of my plan, but then again, at that moment, I had no actual plan other than figuring out what my plan was. Figuring out at home seemed like a decent idea. So, in three weeks, I sold all of my furniture, shipped my books and tons of clothes home, and got ready to leave one life behind.
I’ve only gotten a bit off track here in talking about why I’d like to order one decade redo, piping hot, with a side of hope and a little kick in the pants to go with it. The whole NYC thing is another thing altogether. The last fourteen years are too few to matter and too many to ignore. So really, I guess I should just stop whining and get down to being grateful.
I am grateful that I have the privilege to be stressed out about existential blah blah and don’t have to spend all of each day worrying about where my food and shelter are coming from. Granted, I’d be a lot less worried if I were working at the moment, but hey…at least less worry is better than full on mind-numbing aching worry, right?
Hey, did you know that if you buy young men’s socks they are cheaper than adult socks? I have size ten feet, so the young men’s sizes work for me. The ever so comfy squishy work socks I have on at the moment come in a pack of four. The adult pack was four dollars more. I’m grateful I checked the prices before I bought. It’s cold today. Warm socks are something to be grateful for. So, I am.
I'm just someone trying to figure out how to juggle ten acres, work, a mama with stage four cancer, and a whole lot of grumpy. This blog started out as "Grumpy Gal's Guide to Gratitude," but since all I really keep typing about is the garden, I figured I might as well own it! So, thanks for joining me as I try and figure out how the heck to kick myself in the booty and get on with life.