Other years I’ve complained about spring in NH going by in a blink. This year? Endless spring.

My daffodils bloomed and bloomed. In nearby gardens, they’re still in full flower. I scraped frost off my window on May 9!

I was also promised last fall that my Lyme would be “better” by this spring. But… like the weather: not so easy to predict. And sadly, not changing as fast as I would have liked.

With other diseases that I’ve had, the worse you feel usually means: not good. But with Lyme, on the way to getting better, the die off can/usually causes you to feel worse. Right now, that’s where I am. Feeling worse. But feeling hopeful that I’m getting down to the deeper, more entrenched “stuff”. I could call it other names at this point.

It’s the kind of disease that takes so much of your time and energy that you welcome interruption. Although I have ideas of what kind of interruption I prefer. Talking to one of my children is definitely one of those.

Just now, I was on the phone with Ariella in Algeria. I’m so happy to hear from her. She’s sharing – it’s noon my time and late afternoon hers – we’re mid conversation when I see this boat, a bright red fishing boat, slowly approaching my dock.

I’m the only one I can see that has my dock in place, the others are still tucked onshore. It’s raining out. Cold. And I’m sure this is the only fishing boat out today.

As the boat gets closer, I tell Ariella, who expresses her indignation at their “invasion of privacy”, She has seen this when she’s here.

I agree: go away! My dock is maybe 20 walking steps away from where I am inside – this is an old boathouse. I feel like own the fish that are under my dock… They’re mine!

I can now see the dad, the older teenage son, and the younger 10 (?) year old puffed out in a lifejacket covering a raincoat over a thick layer of warm clothes. He’s eagerly casting his line : right under my dock!

But then something happens. There is a moment of consternation, as they edge closer and closer. Then the young one catches hold of the pole and steps onto my dock.

His fishing line has gotten tangled on one of the anchor chains underneath. His older brother waves apologetically as he clears it. All set and rewound, the young one steps back onboard and they all wave – in the rain – as the boat pulls away. The rain is now pouring down.

It’s a small incident. That’s the only boat on the lake. It has come to fish right off my dock. And does what upsets me most.

And then: just a bit of nonverbal communication and… I feel soothed.

It’s okay. I’m glad the boy bravely jumped on my dock and rescued his probably new gear. That one wave “healed” everything for me.

I don’t “own” the fish under my dock. But I also do not admit to owning Lyme.

But… getting Lyme to turn around and leave – not so efficient; It intrudes and it’s work to expel.

I’m ready to get an apologetic wave as it pulls away.

And never comes back.

“Yes,” Juliann (my biomagnet healer practitioner), “But you’ve had it a long time. It’s not going to leave without a fight.”

Grrrr.