I already talked about how comfort is getting scarcer. My home is under attack, AKA being remodelled. It makes me think about the 3rd amendment in the Bill of Rights. That refers to not letting soldiers take over the residences of citizens willy-nilly.
I definitely feel under attack. I know it’s my own fault, because I paid this army of electricians, carpenters and contractors to invade and demolish my house.
I still don’t have to like it.
Every surface and object I see I see, inside and out, seems to need a series of tasks performed with or to it. It needs to be moved, then cleaned under, around, and near it. Then it needs to be put back, and in every case the place it needs to be located needs it’s own bullet point of tasks completed in order to be properly dealt with.
It’s exhausting, and I can’t even find a way to make a cup of tea.
I went outside to take out the trash, and was weaving my way between empty boxes and half-ful paint cans when I saw it. I gasped.
That, my friends, is a hyacinth. It’s a sturdy little bulb that I planted nearly ten years ago and left to its own devices.
Every year since those hyacinths have popped up and sprouted when the weather turns warm. They are beautiful and smell so sweet. One stalk can fill my house with an intoxicating scent.
For the last ten years I have lived on their bounty, reaping sweetness and beauty again and again from the smallest effort of planting the bulb.
When I found that blossom behind a stack of open boxes I remembered. Yes, some things in life require so much effort to get the reward. Every surface in my house is requiring effort right now.
And there are still things that are straight up gifts. The sky in the morning. The hyacinth that does not forget to blossom even when I have forgotten it.
Blessings and miracles happen whether I am grumpy or not. And since I am in such a foul mood, it is particularly sweet.