I don't know if spring has been the death of blogging for me, or if I should blame it on Facebook. Or the Poem A Day Challenge. Whatever the cause, my impetus to blog has been in serious death throes for a while now. The end of the term is of course another likely culprit. Facebook has been a real entertainment, but it's beginning to wane. Spring calls me out of the house every day until the day gets too hot, to get things cleaned up, weeded, cut back, planted, ad infinitum. It is so utterly spring here now, the fresh green leaves of the big cottonwood outside the kitchen window greet me every morning and make me smile even before I get the coffee going. The redbud and the lilacs are glorious right now, irises blooming a rich deep purple. I just cut the remainder of my winter greens, some chard and spinach, for a stirfry tonight.
I won't be able to do much in the garden, at least of the bending, stooping, lifting sort (and what other sort is there?) for a while soon, as the next milestone on my life journey is coming up in two weeks. I've been procrastinating about an eye doctor visit much too long, but very aware how blurry my vision was becoming. I thought I just needed new glasses. But no, I need new eyes. And so, I'm having cataract surgery, both eyes, one eye at a time, the first one on the thirtieth of this month. Everyone tells me I'll be so happy once it's over, that it's like a miracle, and other exuberant forms of propaganda, but I'm fairly freaked out about it nonetheless. Any Women On readers who have already been through this - I'd love to hear your experiences. One of my sisters has had one eye done, and she is in the "it's like a miracle" camp, and she doesn't suffer medical procedures lightly. I dreamed last night that I found an old pair of glasses in some stuff I was going through, and they were perfect, I could see absolutely clearly and was so happy because it meant I wouldn't need to have the cataracts removed. Perhaps the glasses stand for the lenses I'll have IN my eyes once it's all over, or perhaps it's just about how nervous I am. (Cross-posted from Quid Nunc?)