One of the benefits of being a homesteader whose aim is to live a simpler life is that we tend to take the time to appreciate the little things and we try not to sweat the small stuff.
When I see all the things we didn’t get around to doing this summer, it doesn’t bother me now like it once would have.
Things like meaning to paint the chicken coop and my antique egg selling cart and the outdoor furniture.
Or the flowerbeds not getting weeded before the snow arrived.
It can all wait until spring.
I used to seem to worry way too much about what I wasn’t doing and never really took time to notice all the far more important things around me, which I love to share here, like the sunrise and the birds and the seasons changing.
Mostly the birds. Lots and lots of those. 😆
I mean, I noticed them, but I didn’t really see the value of them until I was forced by my health to slow down and live more simply.
My older brother died a few days ago, so I’ve been dealing with that grief. He was only nine years older than me and had been bedridden for over a decade with the same disease I have.
So there’s a lot of survivors guilt I have to live with now, and I feel a combination of gratefulness and profound sorrow for us both. I am thankful he is out of his misery, because it was such a miserable life for him compared to how he was before he became so sick, and I am grateful that I escaped the same fate.
This disease usually allows you to be relatively healthy during the first part of life, although definitely not “normal”. Then, around the age of forty or so, many of us take a serious turn for the worst.
That’s when he went downhill rapidly and about when my symptoms really ramped up, too, and for awhile I, too, was bedridden and unable to see any sort of future for myself without knowing why or how I’d gotten there.
Having a rare disease sometimes means a delayed diagnosis, which can literally mean life or death. For me, it meant life, for him, a slow, painful death. 😥
It was too late for him but I’m doing pretty well now, thanks to the miracle of modern medicine so I’m determined to live my very best life possible, within the narrow parameters I’ve been given and I encourage my son, who also has this, to do the same.
Since he died, I’ve been spending my mornings outside more instead of rushing through my chores to get back inside where it’s warm and where I can drink my coffee while watching the world go by out the window.
I’ve been forcing myself to stay out there in the icy morning air, breathing it in and watching everything without the comfort of my central heating and double paned glass separating me from nature.
Not only does the cold help with the inflammation from my mast cell disease, but just being out in it makes me feel so alive! Hearing the birds chirping and the squeak of the windmill blades and the wind rustling in the trees brings me to a place that is hard to describe.
You just have to live it, you know?
I find myself wanting to stay out longer and longer and even dreading going back inside these last few days.
I find myself wanting to take the time to just take it all in.