Today the bumblebees arrived. The white blossoms in my crabapple tree not only smell lovely, they buzz with the constant sound of striped, fuzzy bodies flying from limb to limb. DJ used to spend hours watching and listening to them from his upstairs window. Often I would join him. Adam now owns that window. He doesn't love bees.
Darrin has a terrible habit of cutting the lower boughs from our Christmas tree and spreading them across the garden plot near my front door. The pine needles inhibit the growth of my spring flowers and I usually remove the boughs before March is over. This year I wasn't able to do that. My flowers are trying to grow in spite of the hindrance. Tiny pinks and bleeding hearts peep through the long needles, reminding me of my need to remove the dead branches. The dandelions have spread to my lawn. It's time for some serious yard work.
Tabitha and I have been watching the hawks. They're pairing off now. We see them circling and diving as they harvest numerous prairie dogs. I would feel badly for the rodents if they weren't so prone to throwing themselves beneath the wheels of my car when I drive past the prairie dog towns. There's no way to avoid them, and I'd rather have them be dinner for the hawks than roadkill. It's not as much fun to watch the birds from my front porch as it is to spy on them during my morning runs on the prairie ridge above my home, but my hip is not ready for long outdoor runs yet. Each day it grows stronger, though. I'm hopeful I'll be running outside by June.
Adam had a heart-to-heart with me last week. He let me know that he's realized I was right about that get-good-grades-in-high-school thing. His amazing test scores, it seems, serve only to let the universities know he's brilliant but lazy. Every person he spoke to at his universities of choice let Adam know that while he will be accepted, he will be offered scholarships only after he attends a semester or two at a different school during which time he would, of course, earn extremely high grades. Adam was a tiny bit devastated.
Adam further let me know that in spite of the hours of training he had put in, he was not really interested in being an EMT. I suggested he get a different job--any job--if that was the case. By the next day he had secured a job at a call center affiliated with the university. The pay will be half what he would make as an EMT, but I have to admit that a reluctant EMT is not someone I would like working on me when my life is on the line.
Adam ended our conversation by asking, "Do you ever get tired of being right?"
How I wish he could understand that I'm often right only because I've spent so much of my life being wrong about everything.
I have a recital on Monday next week and then the month of May is filled with accompanying for festivals and competitions. I will teach at the university briefly, for summer music institute which ends the second week of June. My hope is that in July I'll be able to take some days off to rest a bit.
I met with Therapist on Monday. He is always encouraging, pointing out the many obstacles I'm overcoming bit by bit. Unfortunately, there are some things happening which seem to be beyond my control right now. Therapist has assigned a number of exercises to help combat the probable outcome. I feel exhausted just thinking about them. There are definitely moments when I simply want to let things just happen, regardless of whether or not they make me unhealthy or unhappy. Then I cry a little bit (or sometimes a lot), whine about unfairness, wish things were different, feel sorry for myself--and then I move in the direction I'm supposed to. I pretend that's what everyone does when faced with difficult challenges. It makes me feel less like a coward.
In the meantime, I intend to enjoy newly blooming flowers, circling hawks, abundant sunshine, incredibly blue skies, fragrant cherry and crabapple blossoms, and my bumblebees. And maybe, when the afternoon breeze kicks up, I'll take a break from work and make some cookies. Therapist says the smell of baking cookies makes everything seem better and I agree.