I really am 67

On Saturday I awoke with the thought that, today, I was going to plant some flowers in the empty pots that dot the front lawn of the house. They have been empty since I moved here in 2015 and they’ve chided me with their emptiness, challenging me to fill their void. I had thought I would plant some cacti to go along with the desert landscaping in the front (and avoiding additional watering chores) but, in the end, I opted for good old lantana shrubs. They grew wild around here when I was a child. They’re pretty hardy so, I hope, they’ll withstand my “black thumb” efforts.

I threw a load in the wash, changed the ac filter, and then headed out to Whitefill’s nursery on Glendale. I had already checked in the backyard shed for potting soils, rocks for the bottom of the pots etc. so I was prepared for the planting I was going to do. I had a nice hunky Latino sales rep at the nursery help me with the lantana selections and I, in my typical grab and go shopper fashion, was out the door in no time. I got home, loaded up the wheel barrow and piled in some broken blocks after carefully putting on some gloves and looking out for scorpions. I also used the wheel barrow to lug the potting soils to the front where I set up a little assembly line to re-pot the lantanas (all 9 of them) into the pots in the front yard. I mixed colors in the larger pots; and used up more soil than I had anticipated. Getting the smaller pots of lantana into the bigger ones was harder than I thought but I persevered and I was successful in filling the two large pots with mixed colors and the smaller pots with singles.

But, Oh Lordy, my back! Between my back and I kept hitting my head on the front bedroom window awning I was very sore and out of breath. I took a couple of breaks, one even in the front seat of the car, and I thought “I don’t know if I can finish this.” If I had entertained any notion that I was “cured” of my Parkinson’s, I was disabused of that in a big hurry. Still, I plugged away. After Annie came by to do my medicine trays, I went to Target and bought a new hose for the front and more potting soil. The hose just barely reaches, the potting soil filled in the gaps that I needed to fill and at 2:00 I collapsed in the family room with a mighty groan.

I still had to fold laundry, make my bed and take a shower. I did but I was constantly stopping to rest. I called out for pizza delivery and ate in the family room watching animal programs. I took 2 naprosin when I went to bed and, miracle of miracles, I only got up once to pee.

Sunday was spent laying about, doing crosswords and listening to the radio. I watered the plants and they looked a bit bedraggled although this morning they looked more peppy. I was encouraged.

I didn’t think I was that out of shape. But I realize that, even though my mind can picture doing the deed, the body has trouble keeping up with the action. Is it always that way? I suppose it’s part of being 67; I wonder how much it has to do with the Parkinson’s? Who cares. Either way, I’m really limited physically by what I can do. Another limitation to accept. Crap!

 

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