Wo-Manual Labor
I love using my body. My brother came over early today and fixed the stovepipe for my woodstove while I moved big pieces of cherry lumber that KK and I stored in a hobbit hole above the steps. It was heavy, but I did it. Then we borrowed my dairy farmer neighbor’s Bobcat, and Jeff dug up and leveled old gravel piles by the barn and made a turnaround place by the house. I moved old barnsiding and helped rake the gravel. It felt so good to use my cheerios muscles. I have too much neurotic work ethic to think I have a right to just walk for the sake of keeping my body in shape or to de-stress, but I can do it if I have to walk the dog or go to the post office and save gas. But it’s even better if I can actually do work outside like cutting wood or gardening or mowing or building. Today was just cold enough–the type of day Joe would have wanted to cut wood. I loved helping him and Wayne cut wood. It made me feel useful. I felt useful today with Jeff. It’s so hard for me to motivate myself when I’m alone. I want to keep my body moving, even though I hurt afterwards because I’m older. It’s worth it. Joe and I used to say we wanted to be the next Helen and Scott. But it’s hard to be a Helen without a Scott. I saw a newsclip yesterday about a 90 year old man in England who still plays rugby. He says he will play until he is 95 and then he will take up golf. When he ran around, he looked like he ran like a ninety-year-old man. But how do we know what a ninety-year-old man looks like when he runs? Have you ever seen one? I have not. Anyway, he didn’t just run–he head-butted other player in the stomach. I want to be a head-butter when I’m ninety.