Open Writing

Physically pffffft! That’s me. At some point as I slid from sixtyish to seventyish, I lost a large amount of energy. I think the children next-door picked it up as they run about whooping and hollering from early morn to dusk with no sign of tiring.

Physical energy is funny stuff don’t you think? There one minute and gone the next. I used to think my mind controlled my body and that having decided on a course of action and applied will power, I could achieve my goal with ease. But will has become willy-nilly and my mind often goes AWOL leaving me standing in a room thinking this is a nice place but why am I here?

I find myself following old habits, seeing things about the house and garden that require attention and buying whatever is needed to facilitate the maintenance. But there it stops. Piled up at the back door are ten bags of pine bark waiting to be spread on the garden, new pots and potting mix for the orchids and a twenty litre tin of fence paint. That tin of paint has been there for two months and the fence repairs that need painting were made two months prior to buying the paint. Do you see what I mean?

One morning last week I woke to a perfect day. Perfect for painting the fence. Once the household chores were done I pulled on my old painting clobber and walked down the drive to the front fence carrying the paint and a brush. I could see I would need to wire brush the flaking paint from the palings and returned to the shed for the brush stopping on the way to pull a few weeds from a flower bed.

Armed with the wire brush and pushing aside sharp twigs of the bushes growing along the fence, I began work. After pausing for the tenth time to dab the bloody scratches on my arms with a handkerchief, I tossed down the wire brush and walked back up the drive and around the house to the shed for the secretors. All this trekking back and forth was tiring and I sat on the ground in the shade to rest before tackling the offending shrubs.

‘Are you OK down there?’ said a voice. I looked up to see our post-lady’s friendly face peering over the palings. Now our local postie is my age and she strides around the neighbourhood wearing runners, short shorts and a peaked cap. She is fit and tanned and exudes a vitality that turns me pea green with envy. I explained I was deciding the best way shape the shrubbery and began snipping with a brave show of enthusiasm.

With a smile and a leap that would do credit to a young gazelle, she was off, striding away across the road. I sighed as I finished piling the hedge trimmings into the compost. Time for a cup of tea. A neighbour joined me in the warm sunshine and we chattered. Morning tea over, I returned to the fence. But my burst of energy was over and packing up I returned the gear to the shed.

I wonder if energy can be bought mail-order?