Maria says I’m in a deep fog, and she is right.

I can’t remember which day it is today or tomorrow; I insist it’s Saturday, and this is before surgery or painkillers. I’m feeling guilty about my toe, listening to broody music – Jess Williamson and Lucina Chua – and reading a wonderful, hilarious, and beautifully written novel, Big Swiss, by Jen Beagin.

I called the hospital to find my arrival time, and they want me there by 7 a.m. I guess I’m one of the first up; they usually schedule diabeitics first as I can’t take any insulin, food, or water before the surgery (no wedding ring either.).

It’s going to be a long and memorable day. We spent the morning shopping at a local supermarket for food for the week – fish, fruit, vegetables, cottage cheese, grain bread, oat milk, etc.

I usually do the shopping and much of the cooking, but Maria will be doing that for a few days, and she decided to come with me, as I seem to have drifted into a zombie-like state. After the supermarket, Maria took me out to lunch. I doubt I was an exciting company. But we love being together, that was good for me.

(Fate’s eyes blaze with alertness.)

I’m mumbling, gazing off into space, wondering what is happening, and dreaming that I’m having my toe amputated. That feels both sad and a relief.

The bad news is getting up before 5 a.m.; the good news is that I should be home in the early afternoon, assuming all goes well.

I need to close my eyes, swim in silence, listen to sweet music, meditate, doze, and roll with it. Time passes quickly like that; I’m like a turtle crawling into a mud hole when it gets complicated.

I detach and more or less exist. I’m silent, which is not a typical stare.

It isn’t fear, exactly. It’s more like self-anesthetizing. I learned early to crawl into holes and keep my head down.  I’m also a dishwashing addict; I wash them all day, sometimes when they are not even dirty.

I have a new camera, as you know, the Leica SLS-2, one of the first to allow lenses from other sources. I’m renting a Sigma 85 mm and a Sigma Macro Lens – $25 a month, so I can see what works with the new camera,  the 85 is a prime portrait lens. I’ll have to pick one of the two. I can have them for three months.

I took the 85mm out on what I call a “grounding walk,” Bedlam Farm is famous for and something I often do when disconnected. I want to see how it works for me. I think it will be a terrific portrait lens. I was very much impressed. This new camera is a game-changer for me.

This morning, I thought my toe deserved a better fate than ending up in some research lab. I wondered if he might get lonely, then woke up, shook my head, and moved on. Interesting that I identify on some level with a toe. We’ve been together for a long time.

For me, getting grounded means being quiet and often means animals. It means sitting by the pasture and watching the donkeys and the sheep. These two species have been around people for a long time, and they know how to be calm and grounded. I think it shows in the photos, which I am sharing with you here. I love looking at them again and again.

All of them are taken with the new Leica and the rental 85 mm lens. These are peaceful photos.

It was peaceful and grounding. I won’t be able to do it, I don’t think, for a few days at least.

Queen Minnie is 16 years old; she still spends the night in her heated cat house in the basement but comes outside to sit in the sun.

 

I think donkeys are the most spiritual of anima; I love to commune with them, as does Maria. They know when we are upset, for sure.

Robin still looks a bit like a lamb two years after his birth. He has his mother’s skinny legs.

 

He lies meditative, sometimes soaking up the quiet and the silence, as I watched him. Animals like sheep are grounding; they know how to be still and peaceful.

This landscape is quiet and soft; something is calming about it. Try it yourself.