It wasn’t pretty. I woke up with the song echoing in my mind; Too Much Of Nothing.
Now, too much of nothing
Can make a man feel ill at ease
One man’s temper might rise
While another man’s temper might freeze
In the day of confession
We cannot mock a soul
Oh, when there’s too much of nothing
No one has control
It was much too much of a temporal displacement for this early in the morning, 2022, back to 1969. Besides, neither the year nor the song had been favorites. So there were two reasons for being dislocated.
Now I’ll have to live all day with the idiot song echoeing in my ears. What does “we cannot mock a soul. Oh, when there’s too much of nothing no one has control” What does it mean? Blast you, Bob Dylan!
Here’s the thing – does the nose really know, or is it like I say during allergy season, “my noes don’t no because I’m all stuffed up.” Sniffle Those darn trees are beginning to flower, and I am getting stuffed up, time to squirt something into my noes,
The way to go varies with time and space. Once upon a time the way to go was something determined by what a group of friends considered hip. Then growing up a bit, the way to go was more internally determined by thought and desire to develop in new spiritual or intellectual directions.
After I finally learned to drive, the way to go was guided by maps and signs.
Later still, the way to go became a serious concern as I lost my path, and it seemed that I’d never relocate the way to go again. Then I found a new direction, and the way to go seemed evident once again.
So yes, the way to go is variable in time and space. Hey! ” Way to go!” Huh?
I am looking forward to one of the most restful parts of my year. I’ve purchased my seeds, ordered some new native plants for the woodland area, and even gone ahead and planted the oregano and thyme for the kitchen garden. It all starts slow and gears up. As March proceeds, the snows recede, and I can be seen pacing in my garden – waiting for small hints of spring in the woodlands – spicebush blossoms, trout lily, and other ephemerals.
In the vegetable garden, I plan beds. Right now, they are covered in snow, except where the buckets of wood ash have been dumped. The wood ash is the final gift of the tree that improves the fertility of the soil. The charcoal in the ash improves the water-retaining ability of the earth as well.
The fig trees and the rosemary bushes share the greenhouse with the carving tools.
Two shelves are reserved for seedlings. Those will get going at the end of March.
It sounds busy, but it’s the best of rest for me. It’s the enforced stillness of winter that I find non- restful.
My wonky right eye has caused no end of trouble for me. However, I do celebrate that I have vision in it at all. A routine visit to the ophthalmologist years ago came up with a macular hole in the offending eye. While surgery closed the hole, saving the eye, it left my vision just a bit cockeyed. To most, it wouldn’t be noticeable, but I am a carver and a videographer. The adjustments to my life have been nothing short of major. I have had to learn to carve and do many shop tasks in new ways. In video, I have made sure that I check everything twice.
Jokingly, as they put me under for surgery, I asked if they could give me the X-ray vision add-on. My surgeon laughed. To date, I am waiting for that feature to kick in. OOOH, x-ray vision!!!
If I had the money, I’d probably taken the bus. But as usual, I didn’t have the money, so I traveled by thumb.
If I had the choice to make all over again, I’d make a better choice; now. But I didn’t then, and now I’m digging out again.
If and but. The two most critical words in the English Language.