the summer of the sad trombone

whomp whomp whomp

Whomp whomp whomp.

This has been the summer of the sad trombone. And began with forest fires, followed by floods. Between financial insecurity and the nose to the Grindstone attitude, I’ve barely taking a break.

No bike riding. No surfing. No horseback riding. No chainsaw. I haven’t even yet jumped in the lake.

It seems every time I have been just about ready to finish a task and experience some freedom, there’s something else. What else? Who knows. These days they’re always seems to be something else. Just when I think that I am going to be free of a burden, another problem piles on instead.

I this last week though, something has shifted. Tasks have reached their natural completion.With each complete task, it is as though steel armor, an inch thick is lifting off and away from my body. Slowly, I’m beginning to feel more myself again.

Yesterday, I gave up. I gave up on being dedicated. I gave up on my focus. I gave up on trying to make up for fifty years of being a scattered, Holly go ligh…