Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content.
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| Like The Queen Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content. |
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0 Comments:Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Monday, April 14, 2003 Lawsee, how did it get to be Monday already? I will call this the year of indecision. Seems like every choice I have to make is riddled with angst this spring. Eh. if that’s the way it’s going to be, so be it. I’m right now trying to decide if I should go to work. Some background now - I have chronically sprained ankles. they are always sprained, recovering from a sprain or waiting to get sprained. It sucks and it’s my fate. Yesterday I moved from Category III to Category I while pushing my little cousins around in the garden wagon. It’s not a bad sprain but it hurts. And no shoes feel comfortable, but if I go around in just socks it’s not too bad. And I know the only real way to get well is to StayOffOfIt. And there’s nothing going on at work that I can’t do from home. And BigDarling needs the car so if I go at all I’ll have to drive the truck which has, not just a manual transmission, but a StickShift And there’s a second rub, because this morning is the Fiber Guild meeting, which I had arranged to attend, only it’s an extra hour’s driving altogether, with the StickShift and ClutchFromHeck that was designed for clog dancers or guys in steel toed boots. So if I were to go to the trouble of driving at all I’d be so tempted to drive on down to the meeting and what if my foot really began to hurt when I was so far away from home and I have just talked myself out of going to work at all, since I know if I go I’ll go all the way. And this is indicative of all the other opportunities facing me. I can’t decide about the Nicky Epstein workshop in 2 weeks because I’ll just be getting back from a library workshop that, darn-it-all, conflicts with the Garden Week tour here in the county that I specifically scheduled the carpet cleaning for so we could be closed that day so that I could, at last, finally get to attend. I love convoluted sentence structure. And we are getting ready to take an enormous vacation that I know will be attended by conflict since BigDarling hates to make plans and I like written itineraries. Okay, enough whining. This, I know, is just Virgo willies. It is to be ignored. Or laughed at, as you choose. In spite of the booboo to my ankle, which happens so frequently that it’s embarrassing rather than pitiable, yesterday was a lovely day. A day of beauty and charm. And before the damage done, I had been able to edge in all the beds in the Old Garden, which were in the most trouble. Hmmm. since I’m going to be layaboutinginbed today I’ll try to get a garden schematic drawn. I’ve had this garden a long long time but after the last big party in May 2000, I’ve neglected it shamefully. I was emotionally ready last spring to restore it but the weather and my health didn’t cooperate. This year, knowing I was going to be away during a big chunk of the peak season, I escaped the stress of thinking I had to fix it all NOW. This is the quiet restorative year - the year to reassess, to watch the sun’s patterns as it crosses the gardens, to note the spread, maturity or demise of plants or even whole beds, to decide where this baby should go now. I was amazed to find only a few roses gone after 100% neglect during 110% drought. In fact, I am completely amazed at how beautiful the garden is. There’s such a rich lush flush of growth right now. It’s a pulsing juggernaut of electric energy coursing through my feet into my very soul. There are surely 500,000 violets blooming in a tide of green that seeps in among the islands of new growth. I am always amazed that this garden even exists - that I created it. In fact, I don’t really believe I did, even with photos - and canceled checks - to prove it. Yet each spring this happens - this amazing introduction to an old lover who hasn’t changed a bit - unless it is to improve and who loves me still. A sudden emergency in someone else’s life gifted me with an afternoon with my beloved god daughters. 6 and 4 and as beautiful as sunrise and as different as a song and a whisper. We spent it outside, planting, digging, stalking like tigers through the wheat, weaving flowers in our hair, examining earthworms, and tickling. There were moments of such magic - as when a tiny curly blonde crept on all fours back into the wheat, then turned with a sidelong glance and said “It’s Mrs. Tiger“. Okay, I know. Not unique pleasures, but see, I didn’t get any daughters, so I have to borrow other people’s girls. Fortunately, most folk are generous. And there is nothing here about knitting or spinning since I didn’t do either yesterday. Once my guests had gone and my ankle was strapped I fell into that familiar depression that comes with pain and the certain knowledge that this is just my lot. Hot bath, ice pack, light supper, and entertainment provided by BigDarling helped a lot, but even sitting here with the foot propped, I know I ought to go back to bed. Where is that Advil? posted by Bess | 7:24 AM |
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