A Moment Of Grace: Part 2

[Life is hard. There are fits and starts and setbacks on the way to wherever you’re going. Folks who leave the bad times out of their stories create unrealistic ideas. They sow doubt in my mind. I start to wonder why this guy grows awesome heirloom tomatoes while I’m lucky to keep a chicken alive. I wonder why that guy effortlessly rebuilds an engine while I had a fire in the garage. The likely answer is they left out the spittlebugs that ate half their tomato starts or the stripped bolt that delayed everything. I’m writing not to complain but to show that the shit hits the fan for everyone. Everyone has to climb their own hill. Maybe folks will benefit knowing we all stumble and our paths aren’t inherently smooth. At least that’s my theory.]

I’ve already mentioned that I made a rookie mistake. In the pursuit of self-improvement I ran too close to the redline and failed to provide a soft landing for my not-as-young-as-I-once-was self. It was bad planning, self-inflicted, stupid, mea culpa, etc… Regardless, I did it. It left me weak.

Let’s call that moment “day 0”. I’d accomplished something of personal significance but was subsequently exhausted. All I needed was some “down time” and maybe a few weeks without drama. I’d be right as rain shortly. Of course, fate smelled blood in the water.

On “day 1” I learned a person of significance in my life was seriously ill. By sunset he was dead. I was crushed. Bitter news any time but worse when you’re in a tired state.

By “day 5” I’d traveled far, done a good job in difficult conditions (at least given my condition), and was limping back home. Recovery wasn’t far off! In the meantime, Mrs. Curmudgeon reported that one of the kids had missed school due to illness.

Let me interrupt the flow here to relay some information. I, Adaptive Curmudgeon, would prefer fighting a wolverine in a dark closet armed with nothing but a cup of coffee and a tire iron to the horror of fighting germs. Germs fight dirty! Don’t judge me. We all have our strengths and weaknesses. Also, I hate how people set the table for illness in a way they’d never court other disasters. Human beings in 2018 know that sickness comes from germs but they only understand it on a shallow, intellectual but not deeply felt, manner. Collectively we act like illness is imbalanced humors and bad spirits. Doubt me? Watch how people manage risk. Folks who’d freak out over a non-ergonomic chair or a kid on a bicycle without a helmet will drag their ass to a workspace and cough on everything in creation and ship the kid to a pre-school that’s biologically akin to a gutter in Tijuana. They just can’t think of any other way. All the Purell in creation can’t overcome human fallibility.

Back at the homestead one kid was down with the crud and surely that was the tip of the iceberg. I was as weak as a kitten and 500 miles away. I considered burrowing into a cheap hotel and staying put for a few days. Get some rest, drink fluids, recover, and (as shallow as it makes me sound) let the winds of plague pass by. In my condition I’d get sick for sure should I come home. So, like every other stupid monkey in society, I hustled home.

By “day 8” the kid was recovering and Mrs. Curmudgeon was on deck. It was hitting her hard. I practically soaked in sanitizers and tiptoed about. Luckily, I had pre-scheduled travel and I was selfishly relieved to flee when the time came.

Meanwhile, another personal deadline started looming. This one far less physical but logistics were key. I had to get a thing built and delivered to a location by a time. Time was short. Mindful of the lessons of the last goal, I made arrangements to take a few days off work. I scattered them about the remaining days. These would facilitate building and delivering my “undisclosed object” without redlining myself again.

Also, spring is a busy time on the homestead. I had a huge list of “must be done in the spring” tasks. The snow was (finally!) vanishing. I’d need all possible manhours to keep up with these things. In mid-travel I placed various orders and got my “ducks in a row” for a busy spring season. I also put up a few blog posts. I hoped to write some more of the Lesbian Squirrel saga soon.

As I traveled I desperately cared for my health. Hydrate, get lots of sleep, one beer per evening… you get one damn beer and no more, etc… Eat healthy and be careful.

Back at the homestead, Mrs. Curmudgeon was getting hammered. Whatever the kid had brought home was brutal. I could do nothing from my remote location.

On “day 11” I was feeling almost recovered. Still a bit shaky though. I had the choice of getting more work done at my remote location or heading home. I picked up a present for myself to celebrate the goal I passed on “day 0” and wondered what to do next. “Get home now!” came a text from a very ill Mrs. Curmudgeon. Message received. I hustled home.

At home I did my best to be a helpful husband and nurse. Chicken soup. Trips to the pharmacy. Etc. I also busily handled homesteading matters. I planted some things that absolutely had to be in the ground ASAP. (Biology waits for no man.) I made a Ryostman. Things were looking up. “Day 13” was the first time in ages that I felt well rested. Recovery had taken 2 weeks. I was on track to build my thing, handle the homestead, and maybe hammer out a squirrels chapter too!

“Day 14” dawned badly. The day was carefully allocated to work toward my next goal. I’d split my time between tending to Mrs. Curmudgeon and homestead chores. I’d been practically gargling Purell but it didn’t work. I knew, as soon as I lurched out of bed, that the gig was up.

“Day 13” was my peak. I’d climbed the mountain and recovered, but it was only fleeting. “Day 14” was a day of decline. My precious worktime vanished as I faded.

By “day 15” Mrs. Curmudgeon, who had been suffering much worse than me, was starting to improve. My fate was sealed. I stopped all forward motion and got very ill, very fast. By “day 18” I was in the Doctor’s office. The next few days hit me like a bomb. By “day 21” Mrs. Curmudgeon was half well but I was a dead man walking.

I’d tried mightily to recover and rebuild, but the terrible slog from “day 0” to “day 21” had been too much.

That’s when I had my moment of grace.