I woke up early this morning with a hoarse voice, a frog croaking sound that is so unpleasant to listen to. After breakfast, there went the gargantuan headache that lasted until late this afternoon. It must be the weather prevailing this summer. Or maybe, it was the exhaustion of tending the garden for almost three straight hours yesterday. I was able to trim the grass though. I attempted to trim our Fukien tea plants and dwarf Pandakaki into perfect round shapes. At least they’re not as dense as they were before. My goodness, it’s hot, hot, hot in Metro Manila.
Just got hold of a book called The Measure Of My Days by playwright and Jungian analyst Florida Scott-Maxwell. To quote the book’s brief summary, it “explores the unique predicament of one’s later years: when one feels both cut off from the past and out of step with the present; when the body rebels at activity but the mind becomes more passionate than ever.” She wrote it when she was eighty. I haven’t finished the book yet, so far it’s a joy to know than even if you reach that age, you can still do something like writing a book. I’m thinking, could I still write or blog when I reach the ripe old age of seventy?