The day almost looked evil as Stewie and I set out on this Friday morn. The clouds were gathering, as if in summit, planning some outlandish weather system for us. We went anyway, dressed in such a way that if the clouds dumped their contents on us, we would be fine, just wet. Given my follicularly challenged pate, that was not at issue. Stewie, being the dirtbag he is capable of being, doesn’t care at all.
I had an early morning massage and I felt invigorated. Manuel has managed to put this sixty-something body into a good place. Although I almost feel superstitious about it, many of my previous aches and pains have pretty much disappeared. My sore hip in bed is gone. My lower back pain has dissipated. Not that Manuel is the only author of this more than pleasant story, but I feel that he has been a prime contributor. I am so thankful that my original gift of a massage by Manuel has turned into a good maintenance item. I was not happy when I found out that Manuel had left the chiropractic locale he was working in without leaving a forwarding message but very happy when the ladies working at the desk slipped me his cellphone number.
It is almost cool on the patio as I write and the flowers are glorious. My mother’s yarrow and poppies are lining up in front of the fence between our yard and the Connardy’s, not having fallen victim, as they did last year, to some mysterious airborne poison that literally flattened them into the ground.
My plan is to head to the far reaches of our small yard and do something that is more of a lost art than anything else I know: weeding. The way back, full of some of our yard staples: red currant, raspberries, chives, onions, and potatoes are in need of maintenance. Michael has added tomatoes, eggplant, peppers, beans, squash, and tomatillos, and I have an overall weeding job to attend to.
I am almost looking forward to it.