Lost Days...

Dear Diary,

I needed a break from the garden and spent some time reading my great-great grandfather's common book which he began in March of 1838. He devoted a page to his "Lost Days" for that year. He carefully notated every time he wasn't working on the farm, 17 1/2 days in total for the year. 3 days sick at home, 1/2 day at Town Meeting, 1/2 day to the trial. I was fascinated. In 365 days he was only 17 1/2 days "unemployed" at the farm! He doesn't mention Sundays but I assume going to his Quaker meeting house didn't count as a lost day.

I've had very few lost days since the first of April preparing for the garden tour tomorrow. I'm looking forward to a few. Today Andrew will come and mow this morning and I will do a bit of dead-heading of peonies but I'm taking it easy all in all. I want to relax and enjoy this beautiful weather. While Matt was here yesterday I found a dead chipmunk in front of the stone wall, not Philomena thankfully, so we had a small funeral service for the little one...putting a stone on top to keep it from being dug up by another creature. No signs of injury so perhaps it was just his time.

We count our days in so many ways...Grandpa Sherman made a careful record in his common book and I keep this journal. Days come and days go, some better than others but none "lost" to my way of thinking.
Each has meaning for us and wisdom to share if we pay attention. We must savor every one and take none for granted. As John O’Donohue said, “We never know how close our foot is to the edge.”