Facing the facts of blindness
Realistically speaking, the pupil of the eye is round, not square. So considering the whole concep of looking something square in the eye does not really add up with the bulls eye itself is round. Whoever thought up such a thing does not seem to remember that David hit Goliath in the square right between the eyes. Locking horns with the bull-elk just might get you square in the bulls’ eye. The fact of the whole matter is that going blind “one day at a time” does not make that hymn become my themesong.
My challenge to myself lately is removing clutter. Some of the things are easy to do. Going through a container full of boxes and old picture frames for example. Other tasks are not quite as easy. In particular, tackling the greenhouse clutter left me nearly in stitches and brokenness. The pathway was getting so bad from the items left there, that tripping over things was a daily event. So I am trying to do one corner at a time.
The geraniums were in desperate need of deadheading and some plant nutrition. An earlier decision to raise them up in the greenhouse left them high and dry, literally! So that job finally god done last week. After my reaction to bug repellent required me to use Benadryl, I decided it was a good time to expose myself to more plant pollens. Rough morning. But if I already had the allergy monster on my side, more exposure to plants seemed natural.
Cleaning the geraniums up is no easy task. With my tunnel vision, I left unseen dead blooms many times and had to turn the pots two and three times around to get them all clean. Then after all nine pots were done, I took a step back to survey and realized I had completely missed one of the nine planters. Thank goodness I did not have to climb the ladder today to get any more down from the high perch. It was so hot in there. Even with all the vents open, the outside temperature is mirrored under the glazing of the timber frame.
Decluttering the yarn scraps gave me some new projects. Just when I think I have a new pile of yarn cleaned up, I find one little scrap on the floor, or remaining in the basket. I don’t curse myself or the object, but it is frustrating. I feel like it takes me three times as long to do anything.
Trying to use up some of the freezer stores, I decided to make a zucchini cake one day. Only to realize there was no cocoa in the house. Then the next day, it is found by my husband. Everything use to have such a well defined home when I was up to putting things away better. Now, unless we get one of those fancy label guns, my husband has decided not to use his memory and put things back where they came from. I have to use my memory to find things. My eyesight did not find the cocoa or cacao powder.
Going outside and down the stair steps of the front deck causes more anxiety than usual lately. The blinding mid-day sun makes it hard to find the steps with my eyes. Even finding the rail in the bright sun is hard. I don’t want to resort to using the mobility cane in my own home and yard. Yet the feeling that I am lost hits me so many times each day. Thankfully, Honey sometimes helps with the stairs. And if I an conscience of what I plan to do, I just have her guide me.
Cleaning the house does not happen as frequently as it should. The clutter makes it treacherous, so that’s why I am trying to clean up some. If the surfaces have less things, then the cleaning is easier. But even while putting things away, I still come back and find something that was out of my range of sight that got left behind. So time consuming, all this clean up.
While recovering from my reaction to absorbing junior (to keep off the bugs) I found more things to clean up and throw away. There was a stash of jars on the counter from the canned goods. There was a collection of spices not put away yet. And there was a stack of towels not sorted to their various homes.
While I soaked in the epsom salt to help the hives, I finally found my sunglasses. I had left them on the dry sink sometime last week. Memory did not serve me very well on that one. Being routine, and scheduled has taken vacation for the past week as I do such un-ordinary organizing routes around the place. So that’s why the sunglasses were set down in the wrong location in the first place. This de-clutter thing is tough.
Making decisions about toss or keep is easy when moth and rust eat up an object to nothingness. Other keepsakes are more difficult. But now I even look at once valuable to me things, as dust collectors and hazards to my health. For instance, the glassware that decorates the tops of the kitchen cabinets. Why did I like things just to clean? Pretty to look at should be in something less dust collecting. So now collectables make me thing only of dust, accidentally knocking something off the edge of the table, and climbing up and down on a ladder. Funny, what is no longer valued.
So, I value my toes, my nose, my head, and my eyes, more than things. I would say that’s pretty normal, right? Just like I use to enjoy some things, now the labor of it is too tedious. It has become easier to sit and crochet than to dust all those silly glass objects. Creating something new is better than removing old dirt.
Every day something finds me square between the eyes. Lately, it is the low hanging branches. Another hazard of the acreage. We took care of those one evening last week. Hubby got out the ladder, the saw, and the skid-loader to haul away the mess. He can do things so much quicker than I can. And even find my lost objects, if I just ask. I spent all day yesterday looking for my yarn bobbin winder. He found it five minutes after being home. Never mind that I hit my head on a wall during my searches. Suffered from the headeache all the rest of the day.
We got the dry sink and the little bench fixed up this last weekend. I am not happy about where to put that writing desk that is now smooth. The next item to clean and refresh is the bench that his dad made nearly twenty years ago. It never had a coat of poly on it, just tongue oil. Me and the smell of tongue oil does not get along. And poly is less dust collecting.
So I have looked at myself squarely, sized up the situation and attempted to clean up some of the clutter. My tunnel vision is not a square tube any more and at times it becomes a pin hole. I do not look forward to my visit to the eye doctor this week. It just feels like a failed attempt at hope to go. Oh, well.
God above, oh, God of love, be merciful to me.
Be merciful to me, a sinner.
Be merciful, be patient, a sinner, Your servant.
Show me, Lord, show me Thy word.
Be patient Lord with me.
Be patient Lord with me, Your servant.
Be merciful, be patient, a sinner, Your servant
-written song and tune by Yvonne Annette, approximately 1998