One day at a time

Thanks to my honey, I was able to make that paragraph a normal font. ;>@

I'm living one day at a time, sometimes a few hours, trying to stay in the moment and keep working normally. It's taking effort that I haven't expended like this in a long time, trying to do what I need to do without getting wrapped up in the what-ifs and going out in the ozone, as we like to call it, picturing worst-case scenarios. Some of those are pretty awful and scary.

Details will come, but not for a while. Just keep positive energy flowing, please, for both me and my daughter.

Meanwhile, the garden is yielding good zucchini but poor tomatoes. Better green and other peppers than I've had before, but green beans aren't great. The grasses from the manue topping we gave it last spring are growing like what they are -- weeds -- and I pluck handfuls every time I'm there and toss it over the fence for the deer, but it comes right back. Because of the soaker hose winding through the garden, that won't stop until I disconnect the hose this fall. Otherwise I'll lose my marigolds and beans. Maybe I can reconfigure it better though.

I have sunflowers that finally caught on and are reaching high -- I do love seeing them when they're in bloom. We've gotten some good chard, but not nearly as prolific as previous years. I think that side of the garden needs more compost and manure this fall.

The days are milder -- only in the 90s this week, mostly -- and it's swamp cooler time since there is no smoke, thank god. We open windows at night, and by morning we've pulled up the covers and are chilly. It's great, and I'm very grateful, especially for blue skies and no smoke.

Abrupt change and worrisome stress are unwelcome intruders these days -- I am a little surprised at how much I love the relatively routine days, the same-old, same-old patterns we have fallen into over this year. I appreciate going outside just before bed and saying thank you to the starry skies, listening to the rustle of the kitties as they investigate night sounds, and the quiet footfalls of the deer as they go across the property. I can't see them, but I know they are there.

Sort of like faith, I guess. I can't see clearly in this darkness, but I know that I am loved and supported, and I trust that I will place my foot squarely on the right path for me.