From the Jane Goodall Institute and Disneynature

Chaos

The bookcases around the fireplace were to be installed today.  Before they got 
into hammering, the men who were here to install it discovered that the way 
it was designed did not take into consideration the two electrical outlets on each side.  The bookcase needs to be modified or the electrical outlets on each side need to be moved before more work can be done.  My 16+ boxes of books will remain in their boxes.  The disruption of the building process will be pushed down the line.  Chaos.

 Meanwhile the contractor and his worker (two different people) have been working on the outside dealing with dry rot and woodpecker damage on the siding and front of the house. Today, they were rebuilding the fence in the rear.  Next week they will be in the kitchen installing "candle lights" to replace the ugly fluorescent tubes.  After that, the laundry floor will need to be replaced.  Chaos.

Yesterday, besides the contractor and his worker, the electrician and his helper were dealing with electrical issues.  This included switching a chandelier from my old house to the new one.  Chaos.

Chaos.  Disruption   I have a huge problem dealing with this.  (At least I've gotten a handle on the garage mess - with some of it ending up on my kitchen table). 

I find it hard to focus on what I need to do in the midst of this chaos.  It is hard for me to prioritize.  It particularly hard for me to do what is in my long term interest.  It is easy for me instead to choose instant gratification.The chronic pain with which I live, especially the acute flare ups,  have a significant multiplier effect.  It is in this confluence of these horribles that I am trying (again) to make healthful food choices and  exercise consistently.  

Not A miracle

I just wrote a long post and accidently erased it. The blogging program on the IPad doesn't automatically save what is written. I have a headache and am angry. Grrrrrrr.

It Doesn't Get Better Than This

Today was my birthday.

I spent it with the most important people in my life.

I am so blessed to love and be loved.

Nope.  I don't live on a hill . . . but this was the best of the photos.

A Miracle Just Happened

And this is not an April Fools Joke..... My Internet failed this morning. This meant no wireless connection for my iPad.....which later would mean no Netflix for the evening. It also meant that I could not access the wild and wacky world with my hard wired computer either. Since my iPhone has access to 3G or 4G (whatever that is), I wasn't entirely unconnected to the rest of the on-line world, but its screen is small compared to the other options and I'm spoiled. I unplugged the router or modem or whatever it is called. (It has about seven lights in a row that show if the thing is working.) That didn't fix the problem, so I tried it again and a third time. And then gave up because I wanted to deal with the continuing saga of my moving-in chaos. I worked in the garage at a good pace, but felt gloomy and anxious. I couldn't shake off that nibbling sensation of my world being off kilter. And then the miracle began. I took a break and called AT+T. The computer program that has the voice of a very nice man asked me a few questions. (Usually I end his spiel with insistently saying "operator.") Today I answered the questions. After a few interchanges he told me that he'd reboot my connection. I hung up when the silence that he told me to expect came. A few minutes later the blinky blinky router or modem or whatever it is called blinked happily along. AT+T fixed the problem. (I won't ponder whether or not they caused the problem in the first place.) AT+T got it right and it only took a few minutes to do so. That feels to me like a miracle.

Will I have to pay tomorrow with incapacitating pain for energetically tearing through the garage, unpacking boxes, finding places for my recently dispossessed possessions? I have much to do to complete this exhausting and seemingly interminable move, the most difficult that I have ever experienced. I continue to feel the tension of the desire to work frenetically and the desire to rest so that my body can heal.

Enforced Self Indulgency

I am laying in bed on a slanted wedge with two pillows propping my head, another underneath my knees and another on my lap supporting the iPad on which I am writing. I have been in much pain the last several days with a fierce backache. I have just emerged from Ann Tyler's novel "Digging to America."  It is a story about two families, one Iranian and the other American, who meet at the airport when each of them are being given the Korean babies that they had adopted. I feel as if I've just left these people as I leave people in my real world; just as people in my real life continue to exist when I'm gone, so does Maryam and David and Bitsy continue living their lives beyond the novel. (If I e-mailed them, they might respond).

It has been raining all day.I hear the tapping of rain as it hits the window. Unlike the banging of rain in the downspouts in the house from which I recently moved, this sound is peaceful and reassuring. My writing - and before that my my reading - is interrupted periodically by my sweet little cat, Daisy, seeking my loving attention - or the feline equivalency of that. (While in bed, I have eaten pretzels, rice pudding and best of all, Otter Pops.)

As I lay in bed, I feel like a kid excused from school because of sickness. I also feel like I'm playing hookey. There are tasks that NEED to be done and I feel the imperative to act. On top of unpacked boxes of books in front of my desk, there is a multi-level (and constantly growing) jumble of sheets, towels and blankets - used in packing during my recent move. It has been sitting there for two plus months. Half of my garage is crammed with cleaning supplies and office supplies and stuff and stuff mixed up in various boxes. This is a result of a move stretching to almost three months from a house 1.8 miles away.  I moved in stages and hand carried many things. I packed disparate items in the boxes so that they were not too heavy for me to carry.  Packing Windex, boxes of paper clips and staples, and rolls of paper towels in the same box made sense then.  (I don't recommend this.)

Laying here in bed, I feel like I'm faking my need to be in it.  I should be actively creating order from the chaos that surrounds me.  In the kitchen, I move a few items and then a few more.  I open the door from the laundry room to the garage, make a path to some cleaning supplies and bring them into the kitchen.    Gradually and then insistently the fierce pain in my back reasserts itself. I return to the bedroom and sink into the luxury of enforced self indulgence.