Passing the Test

I ran a test today to measure my resilience.  You know, like the snap-back action of a rubber band that’s been stretched: RESILIENCE. The ability to go beyond limits, recover, and resume a normal state.

So here’s what I did.  I got out the hose and used it to mark off a portion of lawn for landscaping that I’d previously earmarked, but only in my mind.  Then I proceeded to remove countless clumps of sod – dig-dig, grunt-grunt, heave-ho - and wheelbarrow them across the yard to form a tall, cloddy, pyramid-shaped dump pile.

I suppose this went on for, say, an hour and a half, at which time I took a break and ate a very large bowl of oatmeal swimming with butter and brown sugar.  (Carb-loading and/or emotional appeasement.)  Then I resumed digging for about another two hours.

Meanwhile, a boatload of light-blinded earthworms wriggled in disbelief as I removed their sod covering.  I could/should have gathered them for my fisherman-husband, but didn’t bother.  I was focused, or driven, or both.  No time for worms.  The sun shone warmly on my back.  I flexed my muscles.  I was not almost-62 after all, but some young-er thing doing young-ish activity.

It’s true the job required tedious, backbreaking labor, followed by leveling with the garden rake, after which I came inside and collapsed on the bed.  C-o-l-l-a-p-s-e-d.  Literally.  Actually, passed out is a better word.  For almost two hours.  Dead out.

At 5:30 I woke with a start, glared at the clock in disbelief, and realized what all housewives know to be true: dinner would not fix itself.  So I hopped up and started a batch of dough for French bread, browned a pound of venison and threw in some tomato sauce and seasonings to make sauce, boiled a handful of spaghetti, assembled our favorite portabella mushroom concoction (it’s incredible, stuffed with sautéed garlic and blue cheese - perhaps a blog topic for another day), and whipped up a Caesar salad with the most amazing homemade asiago-cheese dressing (ah yes, this dressing might also be discussed at the same time as the portabella-creation for a Mediterranean-themed blog).  Fortunately my hubby was late showing up for dinner – late as in exactly the right amount of late, not annoyingly late - and the timing worked out perfectly.  He was delighted with the menu, which of course raised the score on my it’s-really-all-worth-the-effort monitor, which in turn also encouraged the score for emotional resilience.

Then after dinner while he crashed in the recliner, I washed all the dishes/pots/pans (by hand) and cleaned up the kitchen, after which time I bounced energetically (do you believe me?) over to the couch to compose this blog. 

TA-DA!

And so, here I am, measuring the resilience factor (numbers and I have never been best friends, but I’m trying to stay true to topic) after having passed from crazy do-it-yourself gardener to recovering old lady to short order chef to janitor to blogger.  Amazingly, despite earlier predictions and more than a bit of concern during the collapse-on-the-bed-phase, my rubber band is not completely limp.   On a scale of 1 to 10, resilience currently seems to be hovering….hmmmmm….around a 5.  Not bad.  Not bad at all.

I guess it’s okay to not act your age sometimes and discover resilience is alive and well.  Of course tomorrow morning might be a different story….