No sessions this day: the horrific gut pain that began the night before continued into the daytime hours. I had been starting to feel a bit better, but another attack popped up to stab me under the ribs and made virtually anything beyond just sitting very still an agonizing experience. More Tums. More meds. More trying not to have to rush and have an intimate session with the toilet by kneeling on the floor and heaving my guts up. Fuck you, cancer, I’m still not going anywhere just yet.
This is, for the farmer/gardener, the most wonderful time of the year. Because this is, for the farmer/gardener, the time when the seed catalogs start rolling in, seducing us with colorful descriptions and drool-worthy photos, the Scylla and Charybdis we encounter as we start the decision-making for next year.
Once again this year, I will try to reign in my impulsive attempts to add just one more packet of some cool-looking tomato seed or try another bell pepper that may hold in the field better when ripening from green to red, and in general ordering things that I think would be neat to try. BUT! I am still not giving up on corn. I’ll try it once again in the coming season, to see if we can manage to get anything from seed to harvest successfully.
It is easy to be awe-inspired by the natural wonders right here, but sometimes it takes something like this to understand just how fortunate we are to be alive here on what Sagan called our Pale Blue Dot, a mere speck in what could seem, to some people, to be a universe of emptiness, but that is not unless we never look to the skies.
There will be a full moon for christmas this year (christmas eve into the new day). Step outside, look to the moon, and wave hello to the LRO as it passes through one of the dozen earthrises it has each day while it makes it way across the lunar surface.