There are times in the early rush of spring plant growth
when the thought of apartment life with no yard for miles around puts a wistful
smile on my soil splattered and sweat drippy face. I dream of the up one flight of steps life I
used to have with anguished longing even though at that time big momma psycho
Barbie lived below me with her howling, screaming, crying, door slamming
marathons to liven up the days and nights.
Tossed those grubby sweat limped clothes that started out the
day so fresh and crisp into the washer, checked achy bod for stray ticks, then
showered and soaped the hell out of myself just in case I missed a bug looking
for a late meal. I tire of this same-o,
same-o routine, but I’m not a lover of blood sucking friends going to bed with
me at the end of any gardening day.
I've laid my head over the edge of the foot of the bed and
let my neck snap, crackle, pop back into place; and decided to throw a pot of
water onto the stove, bring to a rolling boil, and plop in that lovely package
of Buitoni Chicken Marsala Ravioli sitting on the fridge shelf. I’ll just season with butter, salt, and
cracked pepper…I’m tired…that’s as good as it’s going to get.
I’d like to look back over this weekend with fond memories,
after all, it is a weekend that ends with Easter. Hooray.
Warned that a leaking gas line on my car shouldn't be taken lightly unless I
relish a brilliant ball of flames in my life, I found myself with the day Thursday off. Didn't really fancy a barbecue taking up my time. What does a manic can’t-help-herself gardener
to do with all that time on her hands, the day's warming up, and the sun's calling her name to come play with the youngsters of green.
Mowed grass, weed whacked the hell out of the front garden
pathways, dug up a dozen yucca plants, chopped, cussed and sawed up a three
foot round clump of native grass taking over a beauty berry bush twisting my
knee in the process, called it a tiring day that needed to end, changed, and then
took pics for the last post. Garage guy
drove up the driveway, didn't have a good number for me, and my car was ready
for its mommy.
Friday…my real holiday…crawled out of bed, drank a cup of
coffee laced with cream and hightailed it to my real buddy…my chiropractor. He’s going to the Caribbean next week courtesy
of this gardening idiot and others, to snorkel with the creatures of the deep
while I drag myself to work each day to serve with a smile :( the creatures who
ask me if I was sleeping when they bang on the office door during my lunchtime,
even though the sign clearly says I’m having lunch - please come back at 1:00
p.m.
Today…removed a bushel of stinky leaves from the pond, weed whacked the begeezes out of the back yard pathways accidentally beheading a
clematis vine in the process, raked dead growth from the side prairie bed, and
moved two plants that began immediately wilting. Hopefully the cool evening air will freshen
them up to survive, so I can see what they really are when they bloom. New things taking up residence in my gardens
sometimes become Rosemary’s babies in the end.
Waiting for husband’s daily call from Iraq which is late for
me but early for him. Poor soul called
me once in his evening and I had a half minute conversation mostly saying running late for work…got to go…bye. I guess boring is just the tip of the iceberg
when you’re in a small compound with no gym shoes, so the gym’s off limits. He reads me the embassy news when he has
nothing to say. Sometimes I could scream…but
I control myself quite well :)
Baghdad Betty’s column is a bit FUNNY. Not meant to be, I'm sure, but it is. It’s really a bitch column that I think
people abuse tongue-in-cheek like; at least I hope the guy complaining about
having to wash his hands after using the restroom, siting all kinds of reasons
why it was a bad idea, wasn't really for real.
It’s late, dinner’s but a thought in my head, and Lacey’s nibbling
on my shoe. Time to go. Tomorrow’s a rest day, but knowing this
gardener as well as I do, I’d say it will be another work day before my real
work day begins on Monday. Good night,
sleep tight, and please, don’t let any bed bugs bite.
Love you, mommy!
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