Ides of March Eve

 A proud heart can survive a general failure because such a failure does not prick its pride. It is more difficult and more bitter when a man fails alone.”
― Chinua Achebe, Things Fall Apart

 

The tree on the right side of the fence --Did it fall of its own weight?

Abby came home night before last, her plane arriving around 1 a.m. I was so ecstatic in anticipation on Thursday that my joy spilled over so much at work that people noticed. On the drive to and from the airport, a slushy rain was falling. I was fairly convinced that would be the extent of it. I hate snow and the cold, if you didn't know, so  I was relieved that this was all coming to an end. I woke up to this beautiful mess yesterday. The plum trees in the foreground had bloomed this week and had been absolutely gorgeous. I presume that two of the three won't fruit this year--which is fine. I  am certain the third one, the tree on the right side of the fence and closest to the raised garden beds. Less than a minute after I snapped this picture, the whole goddamned tree keeled over. It sits in a particularly wet section of ground, and we did just have massive wind gusts--they blew everyone's garbage and recycling bins over (because of course it had to happen on garbage day). 

After the Wednesday windstorm, because there are so many dead trees both surrounding and on my property, I always check to see if everything is okay along the fence line. Well, it wasn't. A huge bough--maybe 20 feet  long, lay across the fence on Thursday, and I managed to get it up off the fence and almost back in its domain. It had landed on a cherry tree I had planted last year--which miraculously survived. 

 

I first thought the plum tree fell of its own weight, but now am wondering if another dead tree on my neighbor's untended property, broke off and took it out. I will go find out this afternoon, I suppose. If it isn't one god damned thing its another. 

I now need to plant some fast growing root spreading trees up top, as I worry about erosion and mudslides. I am certain that tree's roots have been doing double time, and now I face the real risk of a mudslide, as the land where the tree sits, all the way down the slope, is waterlogged from September until June or so. Sigh. 

Three days from now I visit the cardiac interventionist who will perform the stent placement. I suppose I should have some trepidation about this procedure, but it went so well the first time, I simply don't have the level of concern I think I should have. I don't know if I'm wearing a mask of false bravado (I have wanted to use that phrase since Player released, "Baby Come Back" in 1977), or am foolhardy. I don't know when the procedure will be, but I suspect I will have to wait a couple more weeks after the appt, if I am lucky. I think I only have a single blockage, but they were in my chest for such a short amount of time at the first procedure a few weeks ago, that I have no idea how they could know, given they told me that they had to have a look before telling me the number and nature of blockages. I have one vessel thata is 99 percent occluded. I suspect its the same one they knowingly failed to remove after my heart attack. After 5 stents and 2 balloon angioplasties, I could see how a cardiac interventionist could call it a day. 

I have been trimming Willow's hair one mat at a time, and she looks noticeably better. Its a long story, but after what I suspect was secretly being beat by our first groomer--who struck me as a serial killer at the time--she is deathly afraid of grooming. Or was. Last year my sweet girl tried to eat a groomer trying to trim her snout. After working closely with her to get her use to scissors--forget clippers that will never

happen--I trimmed her snout without incident. Now, she comes to me each night for about 5-10 minutes

of grooming. Its unsolicited by me. I am invariably sitting on the couch, and she jumps up on the ottoman, placing her front paws to my right on the couch, and looks at me plaintively. I pick u the scissors and begin the delicate task of cutting her hair. Then she wants a massage and scratching. She will punch me with her left paw until I deliver. She discovered the art of massage last year and now wants it every night. It is pretty cute. The adjacent picture, taken yesterday morning, just prior  to the

 loss of the plum tree. Anyone looking at her can't tell she has been trimmed, but trust me when I tell you she was the proverbial shaggy dog of the shaggy dog story, and now she is more like Shaggy from Scooby Doo--hairy yes, but more famous for the craving for treats.

Finally, a day doesn't go by, almost not a waking moment really, where I don't miss Jenny. I ache sometimes, it hurts like I lost a limb. Worse is when I wake and turn to look for her. Its like a missing limb--I know she is not here intellectually but I can feel her absence all the more strongly in the knowing. I just don't think I'll ever get over you.