Cattypan O' Lantern's Final Days
I carried my chrysanthemums and Folger's tobacco indoors on recent frosty nights, returning them to the steps the following morning. But Cattypan O' Lantern has a mission that can be fulfilled only by remaining on duty 24 hours a day. Unlike his larger cousins, Cattypan O' Lantern doesn't handle frost as blithely. It's been hard on him, and it shows. Like his master, he's getting a little soft in the head.
Cattypan O' Lantern has stood guard for a month now. Only three more days to go. And it looks like he'll make it--barely, before transitioning into a puddle of Ghost Busters goo. He warrants our admiration.
This morning, near 5:30 am, I lay in bed, partially awake, my fuzzy mind listing through a differential diagnosis of my current, sharp, right flank pain: cancer, tuberculosis, kidney stone, obstruction....
I sat up. In the darkness, my head cleared. I recalled that yesterday I had removed a 12' broken maple branch suspended high in a tree crotch 10' above my head, by repeatedly swinging another hefty 12' fallen branch like a baseball bat over my head. (I bat right handed.) After about twenty whacks, I had managed to dislodge the stuck branch, allowing it to fall to the ground. I then carried those and other windfall branches to the brush pile at the rear of the property. Job done.
Old people do stuff like that, without thinking of tomorrow. Carry cinder blocks, shovel snow, hand-dig garden beds. But old muscles and joints seem to take hours to consider their options, then collectively protest--loudly.
So I gingerly stretch and rotate my angry torso. Too bad. The day goes on. This evening, I'll consider zapping it for 60 minutes with my TENS unit (a birthday gift from my son, two years ago). Pain is Nature's way of telling you
either to slow down, or that you're still alive. I'll go with the second choice.
Bob