I keep thinking back to the horrors of that summer two years ago. It was so hot, and I was so stressed out and ill, that the original Park just became too much for me to handle alone. Even before the population explosion of the golden orb weaver spiders (ah, I remember you, seven-legged Carlotta), it was rough for me to be outside then. The grass in the back got to be over a foot tall on a couple occasions, before my neighbor's grandson took pity on me and cut it all with his riding mower. I tried so hard to keep it under control, but I'd barely make it halfway through before I had to go inside and cool off on the couch... for two or three days... It was all I could do on my own to mow paths for Bump to run around the back yard and for Elsa to be able to pee without risk of encountering snakes. It was incredibly humbling to realize that it was all out of my league.
This new Park is half the size of the old. The back yard is a third the size of the one in Charleston, because the house sits more centrally on the lot, unlike my old pie-piece shaped property. But today I found myself having to mow the yard in stages again. It was easily fifteen degrees cooler than the average temperatures in South Carolina in July (at 9:30 this morning), and the humidity was half of what it was there. On top of that, the lot here is completely level, unlike that big hill I had to fight two years ago. Despite all of the advantages, I could only mow a third of it at a time before sitting down and cooling off, hoping that my heart would stop feeling like it was exploding. I had to try to do it. I had to know whether I was capable, and the grass was easily seven or eight inches tall in a few patches, where the water and sun levels were just right. I think what my experiment has shown me is that while my drug therapies may send me into remission and make me have fewer flares, they are making it even more difficult to be in the sun. I was totally covered this time, with long sleeves and long pants, and the big floppy hat I swore I would wear. Stamina just doesn't exist.
Things were much better later this evening, when I arrived home from a movie to find overcast skies and a little zing of energy in my step. While my daughter, foster daughter, and I chatted, I pulled weeds from the Unless garden. A few sprinkles of rain even fell on my back while I pulled out great heaping gobs of unwanted growers (that I appear to be allergic to). We made good progress in a short amount of time. Why can't it be overcast with a breeze more often than not? Yeah, I know, because I moved to a state with over 300 days of sunshine a year. But still, why?
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