Looking out my Backdoor: Taking back my life, like killing snakes

I am soooo bad. The “like killing snakes” part is hard for me. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve been told, “Slow down. You are going at that job (whatever it is) like killing snakes.” Uh, huh. More than one person. Is that a tried and true Montana phrase? I don’t know.

Miguel, my physical therapist, tells me the same thing in different words. He says, “No rapido, no rapido!” or “Lento, lento!” “Despacio!”Or “Suave, suave.” Those are the words he says. What I hear is “Slow down. You are going at that like killing snakes.”

I can’t help it. I am excited. Now that I am finally allowed to do things, am capable, I want to do it all. Life doesn’t work that way, of course. And I do know that. When I get in a hurry or overdo, I pay. I pay with discomfort.

Discomfort is not the same thing as pain. Pain is what I lived with for too many years prior to surgery. Discomfort is what I experience when I decide, after two hours of exercise, to clean my entire house in one day, dust, sweep, mop, change linens, rearrange my desk and my dishes cupboard.

Discomfort does not require a pain pill. Discomfort reminds me that I could have divided the chores into several days, lento, lento, slowly, slowly. One snake at a time, you might say.

Why do I say “I am bad?” It is such a small thing but it looms large to me. Over the last several months, Leo, my garden helper, has taken over many of my home chores. The cleaning. Emptying household garbage. Hanging laundry. Plus, or in addition to the totality of garden work. Some of which I used to do.

I did not give up my duties overnight. First, gardening became too difficult. Then the housework and grocery shopping, until I was invalided into the corner with a book. After surgery, Leo became one of my caretakers.

Unfortunately for Leo, he was down the entire past week plus two weekends with a flu. I took advantage, picked up my former household chores.

I spent a good many hours assessing my garden. Tools are missing. The bodega is cluttered with items which could/should be stored back in what I call the tunnel, a covered area between the bodega and my outer brick wall. I’m ready to make some changes, to take back my life, my home, my garden.

I made a list of changes and chores. A touchy list. Leo is a sensitive soul. I have relied on him for ‘everything’ for many months.

Leo is back to work, first day. He is not up to full strength. So I picked two simple things from my list, determined to introduce changes slowly. He is sensitive, remember. I don’t want him to hear, “I don’t need you.” But I know what I say is not always what one hears.

Unfortunately, I am a blurter. Like killing snakes, remember. I meant to say, “Just water my potted plants today, por favor —the ones around the house. I don’t want you to get over-tired, to do too much or you can relapse.” “Oh, and I cannot find some of my garden tools, my pruner and a couple diggers. They should be in the bodega.”

One blurt led to another. “Don’t use the blower. I can sweep the patio now! (I dislike the blower, which only rearranges dust.) That led me to mention weeds in the channels in the concrete, weeds that will uproot concrete if not removed. In my defense, Leo asked about the empty pot next to the hot tub. The Swedish Ivy got the white smut disease, up and died overnight. I pulled it out but need help sterilizing the pot. Which led to … Well, you get the picture.

Leo is probably crying his heart out to Josue next door. “What I do? Why she no like me anymore? She is take away my work.”

Okay. That is my imagination; always looking for the worst. Reality is generally kinder. Maybe the joke is on me and Leo is relieved, celebrating, feels a rock lifted from his shoulders!

I did not unload my entire three page list. I will divide my list into 42 weeks. I will pick and choose with care. One snake at a time. I will stitch my lips shut.

In truth, I cannot pick up all my former chores immediately. But, boy howdy, here I come.

——

Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].