Sometimes Life—Soup or Salad?

Sometimes Life—Soup or Salad?

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            First serving: soup. When I hug friends good-bye, friends whom I see once a year of less frequently, I go into a three-day funk. My life feels like metaphorical soup, seasoned with a dollop of melancholy and a pinch of abandonment.

            The day after Jerry and Lola left, I came the closest to a panic attack that I’ve been since the ‘80s. Jerry and Lola are innocent. All they did was go home to Idaho.

            My friends, whom I love, were tasty ingredients in my soup. I’d been six weeks gathering ingredients. Six weeks of guests, of going places, of visiting, of being with friends; all of this is good, positive stuff. Three weeks with Don and Denise. One week with friends in Mazatlan. Two weeks with Jerry and Lola. It’s all good. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

            But my energy level had scraped bottom; the chicken broth simmered nearly dry in the pot. Say it however you wish, I was tired. Not quite scorched but close. Bitter herbs.

            Jim rang the goat bell at my gate. He’d come to walk me over to Qi Gong. Twice a week we gather in the “park” for lessons. Qi Gong is a Chinese energy movement exercise. I don’t want to go. I want to crawl in bed and cover up my head. Not the healthiest move and I know it. So I go. For the energy.

            First thing, Bonnie, then Samantha, who is our teacher, greet me with excitement. I would get to meet Anna, new in town, who wanted someone to help write a blog for Etzatlan. Bonnie and Sam knew the perfect writer for the project and, with the best intentions, volunteered me. I grimaced. Shriveled potatoes.

            Then John and Carol asked me if we could resume daily morning Qi Gong in my yard like we did last year. I side-stepped the request. By this time I am shallow breathing. Too much salt.

            Anna, immediately upon being introduced to me, began introducing her exciting new project she wanted to launch with a man whom she knew I’d like, blah, blah, blah, and I’m looking for the exit. The chicken tough, soup inedible.

            Everybody is standing around listening. I want to say, “No! No! No!” But a part of me wants to be nice and consider the requests, maybe it would be fun, while the bottom of my gut said, “I just need to rest.”

            My emotional response was out of proportion to the requests. I had given all I could give. I had irreparably damaged my overdrive gear. Mentally, I snarled. Over-cooked my metaphorical soup.

            Meanwhile, for dinner, I made real chicken vegetable soup. While standing over the sink, pan of simmering soup in one hand, bowl in the other hand, something flickered past my window and distracted me; a bird, a butterfly, a bat, who knows? I poured hot soup over my left hand, which immediately blistered. A metaphorical message?

            I stepped out my door and ripped a sizable chunk of aloe from my plant and smeared my hand. The next morning my skin was smooth and I had no pain. But, I paid attention.

            I let Anna know I’m not the person to write her blog. I walked to see John and Carol, to tell them I needed days to myself to rest and relax before making any decision about a group venture. Word got around quickly that “Sondra needs time out.” My friends gave me that gift. 

            Emotions are not rational. When I tell my story, it seems a big fuss about very little. But, for several weeks I had been jogged out of my routine. I was away from my home, my resting place, my solace.  

            After a few days of quiet, sitting on my back patio, contemplating the beauty of my flowers, or reading, or creating order in my little world, I feel almost ready to venture out. I dumped my metaphorical soup made with over-cooked emotions. With rest I was able to reconsider the ingredients. 

            Last night I made a salad for dinner; lettuce, bell pepper, avocado, and tomato. I added a packet of tuna. At the last minute, I cut up a mango that needed to be used and tossed it all with a simple oil and vinegar. Oh, my, that bit of mango made the vegetable salad sing and zing.

            I think my life is back on track. I wonder if Pat and Nancie have the coffee pot perking. Only one way to find out. I’ll be back in a while.

Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my back door

February 22, 2018

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