Happy surprises

The other day, my anticipated trajectory got disrupted by a series of happy events. It turned out totally different than I had expected, but who can complain about a day like this:

To start the day, I spent some time with my partner’s grandson, hanging out with him while he ate breakfast and then driving him to his skateboard camp. I’ve barely seen him while he’s been here—so many things to do, so little time. I like talking with him, so I really enjoyed having this piece of time. This was not actually a surprise, but the happy part is right.

Then, I headed for CU to start my gig as a subject in a research study on sleep and speech. I get intrigued by things like this, and it turned out to be way more fun than I expected. For starters, I got to take a flock of “tests” that I have read about for years but never actually took. Some were cognitive tests—not IQ tests, but measures of cognitive functioning, like how quickly do you switch from one sort of symbol to another or how many digits can you repeat backward (this one left me totally bamfoozled, laughing and stumbling over the numbers at the same time). Those were also fun because they were challenging, one of my top 10 signs of “fun.” Next I did some questionnaires about sleep habits and sleepiness. Of course they’d ask these things in a study of sleep, but it was interesting anyhow—who knew there were standardized measures of sleepiness and a.m. versus p.m. personality (that one is called the “Lark–Owl” test. Very cute).

Then we came to the speech part. I got to listen to and repeat strings of nonsense syllables, followed by reading a passage about John James Audubon. These don’t sound too fun, but I was so into the whole process by this point that I enjoyed it a lot. And then, best of all, they gave me this watch-like instrument to wear on my wrist for a week. It measures ambient light and movement. In other words, it keeps track of whether I’m wide awake and moving my arm around, nodding off amidst falling-asleep jerks, taking a nap in the middle of the day, or lying still in the dark because I’m actually in bed. I love techie “stuff,” and getting to wear this for a week is just too much fun.

Then, unexpectedly, the garden lady came by. There’s a backstory here. Earlier this spring, we got a consult from a friend of my partner, a gardening expert who helps her friends plan their gardens. We have a yard (actually, a small patio area in front of a town house) that we pretty much ignore. OK, we totally ignore it. Despite the fact that I have (or can create) a ton of “free” time, I have no interest in gardening. I find the idea of tending to plants—watering, weeding, dead-heading, trimming back, all of it—about as appealing as darning socks. But still, I want to be a responsible citizen of our little townhouse neighborhood, so I don’t want the yard to look totally tacky. I wouldn’t even mind if it looked beautiful and well planned, as long as that doesn’t require anything from me.

Among many other helpful tips, the consultant friend referred me to the sprinkler guy so I could get that system straightened out in anticipation of doing something with the garden. Or rather, finding someone else who would do something with the garden, with the idea that it would subsequently tend itself. So, the sprinkler guy came over to take a look last week, and he referred me to the garden lady (who, as chance would have it, was also on the list of names given me by the consultant friend). On the day in question, the garden lady called to see if she could come by to take a look. I explained the depth of my interest in gardening and my fantasy of a beautiful but totally labor-free yard. We took a walk around the neighborhood to get ideas and see how thing look in the ground instead of on the shelf at Lowe’s. Each time I said I liked something, she would look at me and either nod or shake her head—the former indicating a care-free choice, the latter promising unwelcome labor.


By the time we got back, she had planned a yard that sounds really nice—and really care free. To my great surprise, I realized that I was actually excited about this emerging yard. Not excited like “I can hardly wait to work in my garden!” (“get my hands in the dirt,” as I hear ardent gardeners say), but like, “It’ll be very cool for the yard to have some character and some color—and I won’t have to tend it!” So now, the garden is happily underway. The garden lady and the sprinkler guy are working together and have plans beyond my comprehension. I can hardly wait—truly!

Of course, all of these happy adventures took me to mid-afternoon, with nary a moment spent on the job that keeps me in socks. But heck, that’s one of the joys of retirement—plenty of time to fill with happy surprises, and plenty left to do what must be done.

I got to bed late that night, and my sleep study data-logger will pass that news on to the researchers. But that’s OK. I got to hang out with a very neat 10-year-old, I had a kick trying to remember digits backwards, and I’ll soon have a garden to not tend!