One thing I've learned to do since becoming disabled is to simply sit or lay and be. Often that is all I can do. As I sit and be, I'm not thinking about the next thing to get done because I can't do it anyway.
In those times, I become quite aware of my surroundings and my being with or in them. Or maybe it's more like aware of the quiet between the breaths of life that surround me. Or more observant of the accents of life on the backdrop of quiet or stillness. This can happen even on a busy city street, which I don't prefer as my sitting spot, but I do enjoy it from time to time. Wherever us humans go, there is always a backdrop, a canvas. And there are always accents rearranging like a kaleidoscope.
I like sitting on our back porch, observing and being with the life in the back yard. Lately, with so much rain, I feel we live in a temperate rain forest. Birds have been abundant. I wish I knew the names of the birds and could recognize their different songs. But I don't, so I just enjoy.
We have a large backyard, at least it's large for small-city, suburbia USA. It's about an acre, I reckon. Our total yard is 1-1/3 acres, so I figure the house and front yard take up about a third? But I'm guessing.
Our yard is deep, not wide. The back yard slopes slightly upward toward the wooded area which is the back of the property. The wooded area is about 200 feet deep and backs up to a small graveyard and small old church. I should learn about that church.
The wooded area is totally naturalized. If I could, I would make paths through the tiny section of woods. I'd erect a small yurt within the coverage of the trees. It'd be my get-away without having to get away.
Our back porch is screened-in with a metal roof. Raindrops become the clouds' fingertips as they play their percussion instrument. A gentle rain is soothing. A storm, energizing as the percussion pounds and the sky puts on a light show.
My back porch chair is a wooden, slider rocker. It's 29 years old and still has the original cushions. Oh my! I have looked for replacements, but have never found the right size. The rocker is not designed to be outside going from hot to cold and damp to dry and back again. The wood of the rocker is worn and the cushions faded. But it's still comfy and in safe working order.
I have an upholstered ottoman with wooden legs which I use to prop my feet and legs when I take my rocking chair perch. The upholstery is worn and faded because it too is not designed to stay on the back porch all year long, but it does. It and the rocker have spent fourteen years out there.
A cream-colored metal table with a Formica top and matching metal chairs with padded seats sits in one corner of the porch. They too are aged displaying wrinkles and cracks and a little rust. We used to use them often. Not now though. I don't cook or entertain and seldom have visitors, of the human variety.
I've thought for over a year, I wish I had a bed back here so I could just rest flat. Flat is one of my preferred positions, especially when symptoms are exasperated.
As I back-porch sat this past weekend, I decided upon a "bed" and ordered it online using birthday money I'd received from my generous mother-in-law. The "bed" is a bamboo chaise lounge chair with a sienna-colored two-inch think pad for a "mattress." The pad is designed to fit and fold with the lounger as the head-end is raised and lowered.
We'll get rid of the old, worn metal-and-Formica table and matching chairs. We'll move Hubby's porch chair into a different corner and put the lounger in its place. The lounger has wheels so I'll be able to move it to lay it totally flat. I hope I like it.
This past weekend I decided upon a name for the giant oak that sits near the deck which extends from the screened-in porch. As I was thinking about a name, I couldn't decide if the oak was male or female. Hmmm. Him. Her. Herm. Herman. A few thoughts later, Herhim. Hiram. I think I like Hiram. I looked up the meaning - "exalted brother," an apt description for the big, old oak. I thought of changing the spelling to "Hirem" to reflect the gender combo. But I'll stick with Hiram; it fits the oak well.
A tall red-bud tree grows a ways over from Hiram. The tree looks whimsical, like a Dr. Seuss tree. I wish I had a wooden Lorax statue that could sit in the limbs. I'm gonna keep an eye out for some Lorax yard art, like a Lorax gnome. For years I've call the redbud the "Dr. Seuss tree" or "the Lorax tree."
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