Yesterday, the doorbell alerted me to the welcome sight of delivery men with my long awaited hot tub cover. The hot tub has been a wonderful indulgence, providing hours under the stars to contemplate life as a published author, among other things. Bubbles of luxury allow relaxation to overtake me, preparing my mind for hours of deep sleep. Yes, the hot tub was an important addition, although I’ll agree, a wee bit extravagant.
A girlfriend went a less expensive route, buying a “Spa-In-A-Box” (SIAB) for $400 at WalMart. Having soaked in both, her SIAB is absolutely perfect for her situation, and also delivers relaxation and a place to unwind. Good for moderate climates and three seasons, her tub is currently deflated and in the garage, awaiting warmer days. So many options are available when considering the addition of a hot tub to your life. Being outdoors in a tub of hot water is wonderful no matter the vessel in which you soak.
Delivered on Super Bowl Sunday, my spa was quickly hooked up by T, VST’s son, (totally claimed as my own). High desert temps are not especially friendly when attempting to turn cold water into 104 degrees of heated luxury. The cover was back ordered, while I was assured it would be shipped separately and quickly. So. I waited. And waited. And waited. And waited, until I finally reached out to investigate the cause of the delay. With several contacts, I finally found my cover angel and the problem was resolved.
Not before I received last months power bill.
Yikes.
Just.
Yikes.
Now, with the cover in place, I have every hope that the bill will return to a more acceptable amount.
The point of the story is this. I could’ve been raging since Super Bowl Sunday, demanding a cover that was back ordered and unavailable. I could’ve spent more money and ordered another cover. I could’ve sent angry emails and posted horrific company revues. But why? The outcome wouldn’t have changed. I chose time to relax and be happy in a beautiful, bubbly, luxuriously, wonderful spa while practicing patience. The cover arrived, and all is well. Happy ending.
Two days prior, a most welcomed visitor stopped by. Yielding his magic on several of my neighbor’s yards as spring approaches, my beloved gardener rang. A most interesting guy, he’s a proud new citizen, knowledgeable in every aspect of gardening and yards. He has a real occupation, but gardening is his passion, listening to Lindsey Stirling music while working magic on the yard.
As Senor B and I took inventory of needed projects, I found myself agreeing with him on necessary pruning and tillage. These are two jobs I can’t do myself, if only for the magnitude of the job. With over 25 trees of all varieties, all 10-16 years in age on 1/2 acre, there is no way for me to accomplish that task alone, or even with help. I needed to Fold ’em and say, “How much and when?” With answers to those questions, the pruning project will commence, including the removal of debris.
As a solitary widowed senior citizen, there are some things I COULD do, but SHOULD NOT do. Pruning on a ladder can tumble one right into a hospital emergency room. Not something I can accomplish at 65 years of age. I can hear a collective sigh of relief from my kids (that are not kids, but amazing adults). Thank goodness for Senor B and his staff of helpers.
There are so many spring projects left to complete. Using the warming afternoons to start spiffing up the place, my days are busier now. The high desert winter afternoons are choking out snow and cold. The bluest of skies are back with puffy white clouds streaking through. I’ll never grow tired of the beautiful place in which I live and thrive. Even the mustangs are spring-time-feisty these days.
Sometimes we all need to accept help, while taking a breath as we realize our limitations. Some things planned take time. Grief appears, demanding attention. Keep faith that spring will hold a recognizable normal, something for which we are all longing. Smile as you step outside into the sunshine. It’s good for what ails us.