Lumbars love wallets

I briskly got out of my car this morning at work and my wallet fell onto the floor.  I rubbed my lower back, a reflex move.

The other day at my doctor’s office, we sat there in the follow-up appointment discussing my issues.  When I say issues, I haven’t told you that my gallbladder sent me to the emergency room in the wee hours of March 11th.

Some of you know I’m on a healing journey.  My bloodwork has improved so much I should be given an award.  Yeah, I know… it’s not all about me.  But sometimes in your head you want it to be.  ‘Fess up!  I’ve moved on to another GP, one who also believes in a little alternative medicine.  He sees my naturopath, and I was given his name from my naturopath, who sees him as her GP.  Even though anyone can walk off the street and order bloodtests on their own dime, you should have a primary doctor to order anything else you should need, as well as decipher the numbers you receive.

I was in his office discussing my latest numbers after the ER visit.  I knew my gallbladder wasn’t infected or inflamed, but it was angry.  If you know what it does, then my low carb lifestyle should indicate that perhaps I was utilizing my gallbladder harder than I had in my previous life before forty.  That was the crazy, all-out, feeding frenzy of the SAD, Standard American Diet.  All carbs, all the time.  They are everywhere as fake foods in the grocery stores, on all billboards, television ads, and in your schools and vending machines.

My naturopath told me ever since I started my low carb lifestyle, my gallbladder wasn’t happy.  She has her Ayurvedic knowledge to see these things.  “How unhappy is it?” I asked.  “Hmmm… it needs more fats.”  I knew that meant more coconut oils, avocado, and grass fed butter.  No problem.  But she kept saying the same thing every two months.  “It’s still not happy.”  “But…but… I can’t just start spoon feeding myself coconut oil, right?” I asked, my brow furrowing.   She looked at me curiously, and shrugged.  “I’m just as surprised as you.”

But, in the end, we figured out what the problem was, or at least in the ER.  My gallbladder had filled itself with stones.  Not the calcified kind like kidney stones, but more like little cholesterol soft stones.  It had done this sometime in the past.  If you don’t utilize the gallbladder well, over time the bile builds up, concentrates, and makes these things.  You pass them if they’re small, no huge deal.  But my gallbladder wanted fat so much so it could contract and squeeze these things out.  It wasn’t satisfied working around those stones.  It wanted to evict them.

I love my gallbladder and didn’t want it taken out, especially since it wasn’t diseased.  It was simply angry at me, disappointed most likely, for taking it for granted and feeding my body crap 24/7.  I’m in my doctor’s office talking about it.

“Most overweight women at your age who have stones, will continue to have gallbladder issues.”  He looks at me with his authoritative look, and I’m steaming inside.  I’m also scheming, plotting, making decisions to prove him wrong.  “Diet can have an impact.”  I looked directly at him when I said that.  “It’s not likely you’re going to correct this from happening again.  We have referrals for you in case you want it removed.”  He’s trying to look jovial when he says it.  I’ve got that stubborn look on my face, I feel it.

We finish this talk, with mostly good results and happy feelings, but I’m still marinating in my thoughts.  He leaves, and I wait for the nurse to finish up paperwork.  He pops back in and has me sit on that exam table again.  “I want you to work on your posture a bit.”  I stiffen for a second and he moves closer.  I said, “Yeah, I’ve been doing stretches to improve my neck and shoulder tension.  Since I’m losing weight, I’ve noticed I slouch too much because of my ‘extra padding’ I’ve been carrying around.”  He places one hand on my lower back, the other pushes me slightly forward, it makes my hips tilt a bit, and he said to tuck my head down just a little.  For a second I felt like I would tip forward.  “That’s the way you’re meant to sit, keeping the S-curve in your lower back, and your head down just a little.   You can retrain your body easily.”  He does have a nice smile when you’re neutral and not plotting his death.

For the last couple days, I’ve been taking my large wallet and placing it on my lower back as I drive to and from work.  I have the kind of wallet that was meant for a checkbook, but I gave up the checkbook option several years ago and use it for my cell phone.  It’s quite the chubby long wallet since I use it as my purse.  When you first put it there between you and the seat, your back doesn’t like it and pushes sharply into it.  But after 25 minutes of commute time, you’ve forgotten it’s there, because you have the natural S-curve fully curving the comfortable way it was meant to function.  It starts your day off happy.  I find myself naturally finding the curve when I sit.  I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks after all.

Serial Killer Squirrels and Drunk Raccoons

My neighborhood is going to hell in a handbasket.

One afternoon two years ago, I dumbly watched a drunk raccoon stumble up my neighbor’s driveway and slink under the fence, which in turn divides my property from my neighbor.  Great thing about fences is they give you firm borders, good boundaries.  Bad thing is, you have to maintain decorum, i.e. weedeat and hope he doesn’t gripe when you’re lazy.  I hope no one watched my open-mouthed, amazed stupor as that mammal truly mimicked a drunken human being, with his swaying steps, lolling head, and numerous stops and starts.  Rough night (day) on the cul-de-sac, man?  

The next time I saw Todd (the neighbor, obviously), I made sure my weedeating was up to date and wandered over to inquire about the raccoon.  Todd smiled and assured me the raccoon was fine, and came there a lot to sleep in one of the trees in his backyard.   I nodded politely, acted like it was a perfectly normal thing (seriously?!), and we reminisced about the time I brought his family some peaches from a local orchard I like to frequent a couple times a year.  I left there happy but confused.  Don’t you have four kids under the age of eight?  Who lets an obviously flawed feral animal do that?  Did it have its rabies shot at the vet?

Moving on.

I have a love-hate relationship with Todd and his family.  They are the only sane people on my block (don’t get me started about the Hindu family across the cul-de-sac, I can’t tell what’s going on with the several cars and generations going on over there; or the others down the street who never do anything or wave, but that’s ok because I’d rather not socialize anyways; the ones I know are judging me and my landscape, and have noticed and commented the brick entryway is crumbling and needs repair, so why don’t you come over here and repair it since you have so much time to judge and point; and the house that has the albino squirrel, that’s cool, but I know nothing else about you except maybe your house has a 90’s upgrade to a 70’s look which isn’t cool, and you might be the ones driving the Honda CR-V), but I digress, right?

Todd and his wife (I can’t for the life of me remember her name) are what I’d consider Christian, very calm and quiet, even though they have four kids under eight, and seem very health conscious and exercise-centric.  I could be wrong.  I sometimes make things up in my  head.  But, I do know they made a reference to God making things ok (after they heard my Ex moved out, we’re not getting back together and have an almost teenage daughter, shame on me for not working harder on my marriage, but that’s back to the judging, right?)

Grrr.  I need more coffee.

My neighborhood has a block party every summer, and I’ve never made it there.  I’m not on the neighborhood e-mail list, and I sure as hell haven’t put out the milk jug luminaries for two weeks at Christmas all along the street.  I don’t feel bad about it.  I’ve never saved more than one or two of the gallon milk jugs in my life.  I recycle, so you can’t judge me there, but I don’t buy gallon milk jugs.  When I moved into the community fourteen years ago, multiple homes did the luminaries and it was quite quaint.  I’ll give them that.  But, over the years, fewer and fewer people keep it up.  It’s quite the daunting thing to upkeep.  I can’t make the effort.  I’m sure fewer and fewer people make the effort to wave too.  It’s still a nice place to raise a family though.  Until you do the google search and locate the registered pedophile, I mean sex offender, in the neighboring neighborhood, down and to the right.  Sigh

Last weekend I noticed more and more slow-moving cars cruising through the neighborhood and figured out there was a Pokemon down the street.  Yes.  You heard correctly.  And, I’m sure you’re hearing about the pitfalls of such a phenomenon.  Some youngster found a dead body while searching for those elusive creatures.  And, if you already thought that people aren’t watching where they walked before, this will make it worse.  Slow moving cars?  Worse than texting, I swear.   I actually heard cars honking.  They don’t do that in my neighborhood.  An ambulance came through the other day, and I was thinking “Ok, is this a genuine emergency or did someone hit a Pokemon?”

Earlier this year, a squirrel got into the attic.  It started with the scratching noise, and it sounded like he was hanging around the side of the house with the chimney.  I swear, I don’t have it in for the local wildlife.  They can stumble around all they want, just stay out of my trash and the attic, right?  I guess it was too much to ask.

That damn rodent would launch himself off the little tree and onto the breakfast nook.   Ninja squirrel, no doubt. Had visions of trimming back that tree especially when I saw the hole he was chewing into my house.  He managed to get into the soffit area by chewing through one of those wood pieces you have on tudor houses.  I have a two-story brick and tudor, no less.  He was manageable, until he found the real access and began running around like a maniac at all times of day and night.  Do you like your uninterrupted sleep? I do.

We bought a humane animal trap but that little bastard didn’t take the bait.  I wasn’t even sure he had full access to the attic until we noticed insulation being dragged out of the soffit.  Nothing like coming home and seeing insulation snow on your yard.  Wonder if Todd noticed and never mentioned it?

I tried trapping it outside where we repaired the first hole in the side of the house.  No luck.  Then, the little bastard began running around with dead bodies up in the main part of the attic above my bedroom, hooray!  Dead bodies, you ask?  Honest to goodness, it was so loud up there, he had to be dragging dead bodies around.  I suspect he had the drunken raccoon as a cohort.  No lie!  I don’t have pictures to prove it yet.  It’s either dead bodies or the rodents are housing terrorists in combat boots.  Your choice.

I have hopes and dreams of catching that squirrel.  We cut back the other tree close to the house, and as of now it seems like access to parts of the attic has been restricted, and I’ve managed to sleep through the night with only the occasional scratching noise.  The trap is up there, baited with fruit and peanut butter.  It’s too small for the raccoon, and definitely too small for the hungry terrorists.  The Pokemon down the street can’t smell it, right?

My boyfriend’s son went walking in his own neighborhood, obviously tracking the elusive Pokemon just as steadily as the teenagers walking down my own street.  I’m spending half my time thinking that this app has done more for childhood obesity than any other Michelle-approved program out there, and the other half shaking my head in disbelief.  I will admit my boyfriend, although living in a decent place, is near an area that screams gangs and vandalism.  Visions of gangs collecting under the overpass dangerously close to the bikepath (damn interesting placement, city management fools) across from a Mexican restaurant (this screams for a racist joke, but I’m not like that, thanks) dance in my head.  But, instead of two phalanxes of gang members coming at each other to knock heads off, or even worse, shoot everyone dead, I imagine cell phones coming out to battle Pokemon in the streets, instead of handguns.  However, don’t trip or fall off the curb as you press enter to bring alive your fiercest Pokemon to fight your enemy.  Don’t embarrass yourself any further than you have to…

Maybe I’ve got it all wrong.   Perhaps my neighborhood is ok, afterall.  Serial killer squirrels and all!

Updates on my Journey

For those that want to know,  I’m taking notes on my journey.   I’m not planning on blogging every day,  but since this is new and I’m breaking it in,  I’ll give you the initial scoop.   Follow my blog if you want notified 🙂

Day 1
Sunday, August 2

Still ill talking amoxicillin for my sinus infection, is improved but not gone. Considering asking for refill tomorrow.
Slept well, no aches and pains (for once). Will only take ibuprofen as needed.

Approximately 45 minutes after first juicing I had an intense burning sensation in my upper left nostril, high up. Caused eyes to water. Wondering if juice had anything to do with it (lots of ginger root) or my sinuses just hurt.

Mood is good, not tired. Having black coffee.

I get peckish after three hours.

Day 2
Monday,  August 3

I feel pretty good.   Joints don’t ache,  slept well.   Right foot is less swollen.   Sinus pressure,  have one more day of antibiotics.   Feel rumbling in right lung,  need infection to go away.  Worried about clots in lungs.  I’m chilly, so I think I’m burning fat.   I’m not thirsty and only hungry when I sit still and do desk work.  The hunger isn’t all consuming like it is when you eat processed foods.   It’s just there and not gnawing at you,  it’s pleasant.

I’m not peeing every half hour anymore.   I think I’ve started the nutrient uptake. I had first BM (if this is too much info,  sorry…  I’m taking really honest notes here,  folks),  and it was smallish and solid.  I had one small cup of black hazelnut flavored coffee at 10 am. Only vaguely hungry,  peckish, near lunch.

I reflux the celery and cucumber a lot.  

I’ve had increasing sinus pressure and headache.   Need to see how much niacin I’m getting because my scalp crawls a little.   Excessive niacin causes skin flushing and that crawl feeling.  Unless that crawl feeling is coming from fever.   I’ll check my temp.

I’ve lost five pounds,  mostly the initial water weight.

Legs feel good,  don’t ache.

Didn’t like the way I felt after the sugary lunch juice I had.   My initial thought was for energy to get me through the day until dinner.   Will wait and see if my body doesn’t want that mid day.  I did drink a large glass of water mid afternoon.

Can go four to four and a half hours without feeling too hungry now.

I don’t crave soda pop.   I miss warm foods. Had second BM,  smelled like veggies and oranges.  My temp is up one degree. Not sure if it’s because of sinuses or fat burning.

Mood is super,  no road rage.

Journey

Move in a little closer.   I have a secret to share, and I don’t want the entire world to know.       I’m sick.

Ok,  enough drama from me,  sorry.   I’m not so sick in the traditional sense or definition,  but my body does believe it.  Don’t be jumping up and sending me well-wishes or tell me you’re sorry, because I don’t need that,  nor am I on my death bed,  yet. But I’ve done some research and figured out I’m suffering from the diet of Westernized cultures.   Symptoms of bloat,  chronic fatigue,  abuse of caffeine and sugar because of bad sleep patterns,  belly fat due to stress and high cortisol levels,  etc.  There’s more,  but you know what I’m talking about.

Three years ago,  I really was on my deathbed.   I spent all my adult life on birth control, ate the processed diet that accompanies affluence in this country,  didn’t exercise,  found myself overweight and in the hospital because of deep vein thrombosis (blood clots) and pulmonary embolisms (blood clots that travel to lungs).   It took me five days to dissolve the clots in my legs and lungs in the hospital,  and I had an anxiety attack at midnight on the second day that a nurse had to get me through.  I spent a year and a half on blood thinners.

After that I changed my diet somewhat.   Today I eat halfway healthy but I manage to consume more calories that I need.   I lost a few pounds but no where close to what I need,  and my doctor said I was running out of time.   Time for what?  I knew what he meant.   I was on the pathway to type 2 diabetes and recurring clots.   I changed a little more.  Tweaked this,  tweaked that,  lost a pants size. 

Still,  I wasn’t doing what I need to do,  not all of it.   I did some more research and dug up some good information.   I had already begun eating tons more fruits and veggies.   My cholesterol was decent at 180,  the bad was low,  but the good wasn’t high enough,  yet.   My non-fasting blood glucose level was fine.  I take medication for my high blood pressure (weight related,  of course),  and that’s stable.   I take medication for my acid reflux,  and it’s not weight related.  Ever since I felt bad before the DVT and PE (I knew something wasn’t right for six months before), I checked my own blood sugar to make sure I wasn’t diabetic.   I’m not.   But something isn’t right, still.

This year in May,  I got a sinus infection.   Ok,  no big deal.   I have bad seasonal allergies and I’m medicated for that.   I haven’t had any serious infections I haven’t been able to kick on my own for several years.   I got some help in May.   But,  it came back in July.   And,  to top it all off,  I’ve been tired this year,  and don’t really feel 100%.

Back to my research… I’ve seen where many people have reversed cancer and heart disease with a plant-based diet.   I have decided that I’m going to give it a go,  for at least thirty days.   I’m going to actually juice all my fruits and veggies for all three meals and allow myself black coffee, unsweetened iced tea, and water.   For thirty days.   If you’d like to follow me on my journey,  I’ll tell you everything that happens,  everything.

I began this morning with a very awesome green juice blend of kale, spinach,  green apples,  celery,  cucumber,  lemon,  and ginger root.   I have to say,  it makes you pee a lot!   I drank about 30 ounces of it.   Sometimes I think I might be getting sensitive to sugar,  because my body wants to dump large loads of sugar by peeing a lot of it out,  almost immediately after ingestion.  Probably a survival metabolic function.  Are you aware of what happens when you overload your system with sugar?   Please do the research.   As a society,  we are killing ourselves with sugar.

But I intend to use natural fruit sugars to kill my cravings for sweet things.   If I eat the way I should (and I do a lot of the time),  I eat enough fruits and veggies, and I don’t crave carbs.   But if I pig out on processed foods,  I don’t get enough nutrition and my body wants nasty things,  foods that spike your blood sugar,  crashes, and leaves you craving the next high.   Sugar reacts in the brain just like heroin.  Remember that.  

For the lunch meal,  I juiced oranges,  carrots,  apples,  spinach,  and ginger root.   It was beautiful!   It filled me up,  and I’m back in the bathroom peeing again.   I’ll get used to it eventually.   Tonight I’ll do another vitamin-packed green juice to get me through the night.   Right now I feel energetic.   I’ve seen where juicers might feel foggy headed for a few days while they adjust.   I’ll keep you updated.

I’m so stoked to do this that I’m even traveling with my meals.   I’ll spend the first entire weekend in another state,  but I’m taking it with me.   This should be interesting!

I’m going to get healthy.   This is an option I want to explore, and there isn’t an option to fail.   I’m not ready to leave this planet just yet.   Don’t say you’re sorry I’m sick.   Cheer me on instead!

Dead bodies, and other imaginings

Grab a cup of your favorite beverage and let’s chat.  It could get interesting.

I decided to use the name ReeImagined for simple and honest reasons.  Is Ree being reimagined or newly fashioned from her past into something new and creative?  Or is she actually welcoming you into her ever-present creative, vivid imagination?  I’ve not really changed much since my youth, except for a couple critical differences (those which my mother said would happen, and did, when she said they would… go figure that your parent(s) actually had a clue or two since they “grew up” too).  She said I would find my voice, wouldn’t feel so awkward, would eventually know what I wanted in life, and would gather the people around me that I wanted to be with.  It only took forty years, but the place I’m in right now is quite special.  Not everyone likes a snarky, sassy gal who has little tolerance for stupidity, idiocy, and ridiculousness.  That’s the entire point of this adventure.  Introducing you to that.  If you stay, that’s my choice.  *grin*

Let me get another cup of coffee and tell you what my imagination did to me yesterday.  Before that, you need a little back story to set the scene.  I can’t just drop you in my head.  You’d want to stay, and that would get messy!

I work with several interesting characters at work.  “Interesting” barely covers it for a couple of them.  One of them (I’m going to call her Tara) is just like me (and I really mean that in the way that we hate the same things, like similar things, similar philosophies, etc).  I’m the introverted part, and she’s the extroverted part.  Very unique to watch someone just like you running around.  We share little secrets.  And looks.  And we are never surprised at anything the other says.  She thinks out loud just like me, and sometimes wishes she hadn’t said something… maybe…  *wink*

One day in the Lab, a manager comes in (you have to imagine my workplace as extremely casual… to the point of silly casual.  No one is going to file harassment paperwork anytime soon) driving a beat-up, old, large conversion-style van.  Next thing you hear out of Tara’s mouth is… “Nice rape van you have there.”   We busted up into pieces.  Hopefully you know what she meant.  And we joked about that for a long, long time.  We still do, and he’s been retired for six months.

Another gal, let’s call her Seline, is more the A-type personality that is very strict on herself and her life.  Nothing wrong with being organized and always going.  I find it exhausting, however.  It works for her, and that’s what’s important.

Seven years ago when I joined the Lab, I managed the drinking water sampling for the County.  It was my responsibility to properly collect samples throughout the entire County every month.  It’s a full-time job, and should be respected, even if it is considered “field work”.  Nothing like people looking down on “field work” as less than professional as the other jobs.  I’m not here to jump on that soap box.  Before I was trained by Tara to do this, several other people had to field this job, including Seline.  Several locations were remote and off the beaten path (i.e. regular streets) and were a little creepy to get to.  I always wondered why they were chosen as sites, but if you’ve ever seen a water distribution map (looks like engineering voodoo or witchcraft), you’d nod and go about your merry way.  Sometimes water has to be checked at certain points where it all meets up or converges from, or whatever the hell it is doing.

Respect your local water testers.

Get another beverage or take a pee break, your choice.

Third cup in now.  Seline and Tara talked about a certain spot near a water tower for sampling.  It was located on a dirt road near a lake, and was a dead-end where dumbasses dumped old tires and older appliances.  It was quiet, spooky, sometimes foggy from the small lake.  The only saving grace I had when I sampled was the local cops popping in, parking, and chatting.  I think someone complained about the dumping ground, because once I began sampling, the place was cleaned up a little and was monitored almost daily by the cops.   They never liked sampling here and would always ask someone to go with them.  When I was training with Tara, she told me one time a guy in a pickup truck drove back there and when he saw her, he gunned it around the circular dead-end and took off, with what looked like a dead guy in the passenger seat.  She swears the head lolled around like he was dead, and she thinks the driver was going to do a body dump!  Probably an overactive imagination (I hope), but she never looks happy when she mentions this story.

I must have been thinking about stuff like that on the way to work yesterday, because I had a moment (or several) where a large, beat-up, older, dark green conversion van was swerving and merging around slower cars before the huge merge onto 75-S.  I queued up (there was no offensive swearing this time, from me at least), and when he “merged” in front of the person before me, I thought I saw a hand slap itself against the back window.  I think my heart wanted to be in my sinuses because it leapt up there and took residence for a minute, and my blood pressure skyrocketed.  I blinked several times and saw the ladder reposition itself in the back of the van as it went right and up over the ramp.  I started to breathe again.  It really looked like a hand.  Maybe a poor, defenseless, raped, semi-conscious hand.  No shit!

That’s how my day started.  How did it end?  Let me make some more coffee.  I’ll try not to disappoint.

I take a different route home because of construction issues.  This time it was another van, of the white, nondescript business type.  Don’t you usually ignore those?  I do, unless I’m letting my mind wander.  I do that a lot while driving, but not the kind where you don’t know what’s going on around you.  I always know what’s going on around me on the roads. I’m an aggressive, but defensive driver.

I’m cruising up 675-N, mostly in the middle or fast lane, doing about 70 mph.  Standard business for me.  Until I’m watching the vehicles, the trucks, the lawn people, the plumbers, the A/C guys, the SUV’s selling supplements, or party-ware, or Mary Kay.  Have you seen those pink caddies?  My previous Mary Kay lady had one.  But I parted ways with her when she realized I wasn’t a hard-core makeup junky.  There was no pink caddy on the road, but I did see that van as I approached. And, once again, with mental capacity on screamin’-high imagination volume (with the latest Mumford cd on track 7), there were two feet leaning against the small back window, lolling with the sway of the van.  I could clearly see (haha) a set of dead, booted feet.  This time I was prepared for less shock, and started laughing so hard I was crying, salty tears on my upper lip.  I did startle for a second, sort of relished the jolt to the system, and then tasted the tears as I watched the boots hung from a hook in the back of the van as I passed.  I didn’t look the driver in the eyes.  You never do that.  Ever!

I love my life.  This is me.  Thanks for dropping by (hugs).

Viscera and Grain?

It’s curious how, if you turn off distractions, you can engage your mind. You can let it ebb and flow, wander around aimlessly, or force it into a purpose. This morning I allowed it to just “be”. Instead of worrying about traffic or time, I simply focussed on relaxing. This is what blessed me this morning between 7 and 7:30 AM.

After I dropped off my argumentative daughter at her dayplace, I drove by a new spa location in my hometown. With the economy still limping, I muse about how well the area can afford such a place of extravagance. And the name… Viasera… reminds me of viscera. If you knew me, you’d simply shake your head, smile, and walk away.

I began to merge onto a three-lane highway behind a hopper truck. They haul grains in the midwest, all slick and shiny steel, with tidy tarps covering the grain of choice. This one was hauling ass around the entrance ramp at 40 mph, giving gravity the middle finger. I chuckled and remember saying to myself, “All right! Giddy-up!” He merged onto the highway at 65 mph and I was literally cheering him on, grinning. He moved into the middle lane to allow the next on-ramp to merge, but I managed to get trapped. I waited my turn and meandered into the passing lane behind a semi-trailer; this one was all business doing 75 mph on a 65 mph highway. Traffic was buzzing this morning, populated with trucks, plenty of cars, and a horse trailer. I decided cruising behind a truck doing ten over the limit was my style, since he was bold enough to avoid any snarls.

Directly before merging on the next and last highway before my exit, we encountered a patch of fog that eerily swirled around an open field. Dayton is not a large city by anyone’s standards, and I enjoy how the interstate system integrates the country feel and small-town atmosphere into one package. Every commute is different than the last. After merging for the last time, the speed picked up to 80 mph, thus attempting to defy my small town definition. I got in the middle and tried to blend in. I had time to get to work, so who needs a speeding ticket? Not me.

Time to make coffee at work, since I’m early.

Maples

Yesterday was hot, definitely not as hot as it could have been, but hot nevertheless.  It was the humidity.  I chuckle to myself, because I just told a friend recently that Ohio isn’t very humid.  Maybe I should have clarified and said it wasn’t very humid, most of the time.  It rained almost every afternoon last week, so the best opportunity to mow my lawn was yesterday, after a day and a half of no precipitation.  I won’t go into details, but the flat part of my backyard stays too wet, while the rest of the lawn slopes down at all angles.

It was only 82 degrees F, not exactly a scorcher, but the sun was exquisitely bright and the breeze was nonexistent.  This always vexes me, because I don’t like to be hot, or sweaty, or anything uncomfortable, and I haven’t even begun talking about my allergies to grass and tree pollen.  I’m one of those people that should wear a mask outside, except I get too hot and nauseous wearing it.  Where do I draw the line?  Comfort.  A cold shower following cutting grass is essential.

The mower roared to life, after I filled it with gas and toggled that throttle switch, at least I think it’s called that.  I just know the engine responds well but it will die if you leave it open.  I refer to it as that switch that acts like those gas priming bulbs on the push mowers.  I always do a couple perimeter cuts around the entire yard, mowing the clippings inwards, because I have this thing where I can’t blow clippings on my neighbors.  Call it respect or something.  After that, I tackle the steepest side of the yard on the left.  The breeze was nonexistent, and the humidity was stifling.  The yard levels off flat at the back where my three maple trees are, near the deck.  From a distance, the leaves looked droopy and folded inwards, like they were tired and didn’t want to breathe the atmosphere anymore.  I didn’t think about it much at the time.

I approached the trees slowly, and as I did, there was this large monolith of a gray cloud that gobbled up half the sky.  It moved over softly, darkening the otherwise sparkling blue sky and cotton candy clouds.  It seemed for a second that the temperature dropped a couple degrees, but I wasn’t thrilled.  It was still decently hot and no lilting air movement could be found.

As I reached the maples, I needed to lift my hand to gently push away one languishing branch.  I limbed up the tree last year, but as the tree filled out and formed leaves this year, it drooped a little.  I gingerly touched the slightly wilted leaves as I slowly passed under the tree.  And, for a moment, I thought I entered another world.

Most days if I touched those tree leaves, I’d get junk in my hair and insects and/or spiders would fall or dangle.  Yesterday, however, I was in for a treat.  The temperature felt like it dropped almost 20 degress immediately, and it was crazy dark under the joined canopy of these trees.  I’ve never in my life shivered from that kind of experience.  I was thrilled in weird ways.  I left the canopy to mow around, and came back for another pass.  Again, I had to brush one errant branch out of my path, and those leaves were chilly to the touch and damp.  Damp!  Damp enough that I brushed my wet fingertips over my forehead and it cooled me off, refreshed me somehow.  I know my spirit was refreshed.  And I grinned with some kind of fiendish pleasure.

All I can derive from this was the thought that these trees were turning inwards to keep its moisture intact during a hot, humid day.  Maybe I did pass into another world.  I do know that after I left the trees, the breeze began, and the mowing ended a lot more pleasantly than it started.