For the first time in what seems like long time, I felt a lot like myself today.  (Cue sound of crowd cheering.) I woke up with energy and if it weren’t for the pain in my hands and feet, I’d say my body felt good. I decided that I would just keep going until I had no more energy – and I made it until almost 3:00 p.m! First, I did a bit of client writing, then took Boo to the dog park and then went to the garden center to buy herbs.  I wasn’t sure that I was going to be able to plant them because of the fragility and pain in my nails, but once I hadherbs them home, nothing was going to stop me.  So, like Edward Scissorhands, I went about it – wearing two pair of gloves and holding a shovel in one hand and a spoon in the other. My hands are a little angry right now and I’ll need to ice them, and yes, I’m beat, but it felt so good to do something I love.  I was reminded of a poem I wrote back in 2002. I think it was after a bad break-up or something.  It’s no Seuss, Poe or such, but it seems fitting to post it here, and now.  Even with all the treatment I still have ahead of me, I am grateful that I have the good “scents” to be reminded that one day ALL of this will be a memory.


I found myself in the garden again.
In the humus, the bramble, the human. the humble.
I am clearing out the debris, the sticks and dried once-was’s
That seem to have no wish of green in them.

I am uncovering roses again.
Unhilling the mounds of their winter hiding.
I am sowing tenders.
They are small plants with big dream.
I have long forgotten their names
And unsure of what blooms will bloom there.

I am turning the soil into hope.
For, in faith, there will be flowers.
And the scents of purpose and lavender
And the celebration of thyme well spent.