Yard Work – Straight From the Heart

Then There Was Light

There’s my yard. There’s my house. And there’s me. The control freak. The one who has a place for everything and everything in its place. If it’s broke, I fix it. If it needs painting, I paint it. If it’s out of order, I put it back in order. I am a number one self-inflicted taskmaster. Superwoman and the fairy godmother rolled into one and twisted like a pretzel.

No job was too difficult with energy to spare. Like a mean machine, I mowed the grass, trimmed the shrubs, pruned the trees, and did the weed-eating all in one day. Then I’d go to work and clean the church/school till midnight or after.

Then things began to change. It’s as if I woke up from a long winter’s nap to discover that my energy had dropped dead, and everything in my world was in total disarray. No matter how hard I kicked and screamed against it, old age has me in a death grip and refuses to let go. I can’t control it. I can’t fix it. Like it or not, I’ll have to learn to live with it. But it’s tough, like slowly being eaten alive.

Spring, with its fragrant, cool breezes, was followed by summer’s scorching blaze, dripping like honey from a jar. We could barely breathe sitting on the back porch, and working in the yard was impossible. But like two old dogs digging for a bone, we kept trying.

My husband prefers taking things slow and easy, while I like to get everything done before sundown. But some days, just getting him in the same boat with me was like pulling a stubborn bull by the horns. So, between the weather, yellow jacket attacks, blood, sweat, and tears, and getting nowhere, I was more monster than human. All I wanted was to put everything back in order, but all I got was a head-on collision with reality.

This summer has been one of the toughest seasons of my life. A season of being crushed and broken. A season of surrender. A season of change. And in the midst of our brokenness, anger, tears, and frustration, my husband and I found a church that feels like home. It’s truly a God-thing because I never wanted to set foot in a church again.

But God had other plans. While I was tenaciously working on the yard, He was tenaciously working on me: my stubborn will, my delusions, my idealism, my pride. He revealed to me my insecurities and lofty, unrealistic goals I set for myself and those around me. For me, old age is a slap in the face; a wake-up call I never expected. A bubble-buster of the worst kind.

God never gives up on me. And he never gives up on you. He knows our struggles. He knows our weaknesses. He knows all our dirty little secrets and loves us anyway and takes us just as we are. He is the Mighty Fixer, the Majestic Super Power, the Creator and Ruler of the universe, the crucified Savior of the world. The Devil puts blindfolds over our eyes and leads us to destruction. God removes the blindfolds and leads us to righteousness, peace, joy, and contentment. All we have to do is believe.

Today, I look out my door and windows with a deep sigh of relief. Not because every inch of the yard is perfect, because it isn’t. But because I have a clearer vision without the blindfolds blocking my spiritual and emotional view. Things don’t have to be perfect to be beautiful. I’m slowly learning that.

The night was long and hard, and I thought the sun would never shine again. But it did, and continues to shine as I stop following my illusions and follow God. He is my light and my salvation, my solid Rock, the only One who never leaves me stranded on a dark and treacherous road. He always shines his light to brighten my path and to lead me safely home.

This is after removing all the rocks and numerous shrubs. Too much upkeep.

If you want to know the whole yard story, I’ve posted two other links below:

I Should Have Stayed in Bed!

Oh, No! Not Again!

Oh, No! Not Again!

It’s been a long, hot, stressful summer of extreme heat, rain, tears, and frustration. Working in the yard was and still is like digging a bottomless pit in the desert. There’s no end to the misery, as if I’m being smothered to death by a vicious monster of chaos.

But yesterday was my day to get back on track. I am going to finish one natural area before the sun goes down if it kills me. And if it kills me, I won’t have to worry with it anymore.

When we first moved here, thirty-plus years ago, I had a brainy idea to make a natural area down our long driveway and border it with rocks. And that’s what we did. The rocks were free, thanks to a nearby farmer, allowing us to dig up as many rocks as we wanted. And seven truckloads later, we had enough rocks piled in the yard to build a house!

This summer, I got another brainy idea. Let’s undo it all. I can’t keep up with it anymore. It’s too hard, and I’m too old and stressed out to mess with it. It was good in its day, but I can’t do it anymore. It’s got to go. Low maintenance is my motto these days. Besides, it won’t take that long, a few weeks, tops.

HA! Five months later, my low-maintenance landscaping dream became a Freddy Krueger nightmare of rocks piled sky-high in the backyard, scattered in the front yard, the side yard, and even in the neighbor’s yard, who got several trailer loads for his natural area.

I never do anything halfway. It’s either all or nothing, so I created other natural areas in the front and backyard and embellished them with rocks, creating little landscape monsters to grow up and devour me when I get old and haggard with only one brain cell left.

So, back to the beginning. The sun was going down, I was hot, tired, and hungry, but feeling relieved that I was almost done. I couldn’t wait to get cleaned up and maybe celebrate what’s left of my birthday.

My husband pulled up on the lawnmower, and as we chatted, I noticed tiny mosquitoes swarming around the hole in the ground where I was sitting. Then I noticed something else. Something mean and sinister, like devils from the pit of hell. Suddenly, like a turtle in slow motion, I scrambled to my feet and yelled, “Yellow jackets!”

I can’t believe this! How stupid can I be? I thought he killed them all the last time. Same place, same stupid rock, same idiot repeating the same episode that happened a few short months ago.

Yellow Jackets! Singing, “Happy Birthday to you” while setting my arms and legs on fire. Visions of my last encounter shot me into panic mode as I hobbled into the house, moaning and kicking myself in the butt. Splashing cold water on my arms and legs, my husband yelled, “Where’s the Benadryl? Where’s the Peroxide? Where’s the alcohol? And I just wanted him to shut up, get the gun, and shoot me!

My husband called 911, and I promised myself I wouldn’t spend ten days in hell before finally marching my butt to Urgent Care. And since it was already closed, I climbed into the ambulance and went straight to the ER.

Three agonizing hours later, my name was finally called, and relief was on the way. I’d already received a shot of Benadryl in the ambulance with no side effects. Then came the IV and three vials of medication. Still no side effects. But when the nurse added a more potent dose of Benadryl into the concoction, I knew this was the day I was gonna die! My number’s up! Saint Peter’s waiting, arms open wide at the pearly gates, singing, “Happy birthday to you!”

Well, I didn’t die, I just had a frightening reaction to the medication, which caused a full-blown panic attack and visions of the Grim Reaper pounding at my door.

I guess you can’t live for seventy-nine years without a little danger and excitement. That would be boring. Besides, grandkids and great-grandkids don’t want to hear about Cinderella and Tinker Bell these days. They want to hear about Grandma getting run over by a reindeer, and how much blood poured out, and how many stitches she got, and if it hurt! Real grandma stories with bloody meat on their bones!

Rocks and bushes are gone. All we need now is grass.

I Should Have Stayed in Bed!

Ever had one of those days when you just knew that it was out to get you? One of those days when all your energy got sucked up by a greedy monster before you even rolled out of bed?

We were trying to beat the heat to get caught up in our yard work. Funny how much easier it was before we got old. From sunup to sundown, I’d work like a madwoman till the job was done. One day, my neighbor made me stop long enough to eat lunch with her. That was annoying, but what could I say? She was a good, old southern cook.

But those days are far behind me now. Sometimes, I don’t realize how far behind me till I try to play catch-up with everything I should have gotten done already. Like I said. We were trying to beat the heat, like two old turtles trying to cross the road before they become roadkill.

My husband climbed on the mower, and I went to work rearranging the rocks bordering one of the flowerbeds. Nature has a way of moving things around when you’re not looking. The skies were overcast, and the humid breeze was pleasantly cool. Perfect day for working in the yard.

I was digging a stubborn rock out of the dirt when suddenly, my hands and arms were stinging and burning like fire. Stomping my feet, I ripped off my gloves, yelling and waving my arms like a scarecrow in a hurricane, “Yellow jackets!”

Jumping off the mower, my husband helped me to the house and called 911 as I stood at the sink, whimpering like a wounded puppy, splashing cold water all over my arms.

Oh, it hurts! Oh, it hurts! Suddenly, my heart started racing, and my arms and legs turned to spaghetti. I’m gonna die! I’m gonna die! Hubby helped me onto the bed, and by the time the EMTs arrived, everything had settled back down, except for the excruciating pain.

The good news is, I didn’t die. The bad news is, I continued getting worse until after ten, long, miserable days of intense itching, burning, and swelling, I finally broke down and went to Urgent Care. I wish I had gone sooner, but this wasn’t my first rodeo with yellow jackets. But it was my first for multiple stings, with one leg in the grave already! I will know better next time. Wait! Did I just say next time?

I’m fine, now. The yard is still screaming its head off, and it’s hotter than blazes outside. And since I’m not a glutton for punishment, I’m staying inside until it gets cooler, like around September. Or maybe October. Maybe I’ll just wait until Spring, before it gets hot, and I have to start this insanity all over again.