A few spring flowers. A bit of fresh air when I went out to get the mail on another socially isolated, work from home, lonely day. I stepped out the door, and all I could smell was my favorite flower, violets.
2016 has become the year I let the garden go, and I kind-of feel bad about that. It wasn’t intentional; it just happened. I finished off my schooling and had plenty of time to devote to the yard. I just didn’t feel like it. Here’s one of my pathetic garden patches.
I started out the season with good intentions, like I always do. I cut the grass regularly, and I watched for the first signs of real growth in the garden. Then I got distracted with just doing nothing. Then I began to focus more on creative writing (outside of the blogging world), and my time seemed to be taken up with the fictional world of characters inside my head who were clamoring to be written about.
Then it got too hot and too dry to bother with the yard. I was glad for the weeks on end of no rain because it meant no grass growth either. The only problem was the garden and the weeds. The darned weeds grow no matter what happens weather-wise. They grew so well this year that they choked out most of the flowers in the gardens.
Some of the flowers gave up altogether, others tried and are still there underneath the overgrowth, and some seemed to thrive despite it all. I noticed when cutting my wildly overgrown back yard last evening (for the first time in a couple of months!) that some of them don’t look all that bad. Others were pathetic.
I let some of it go out of spite. I figured if my (unhelpful) neighbor was going to poison some of the real plants I had planted (some given to me by friends and some gifts from my sons), then I wasn’t going to bother cleaning up the real weeds. I’d let them grow just to annoy him. Since he decided to come onto my property to spray poison in my garden, and he killed plants that I really cared about (and broke my heart) then he could deal with looking at the overgrowth in the entire yard. I’m spiteful that way. I guess that’s a classic case of passive aggressive behavior, huh?
Of course, it seems too late now to cut back the abundance of unwanted greenery. Some of the flowers have begun dying back naturally as August winds down. It won’t be long before it all begins to die a natural/seasonal death on its own. So I’ll procrastinate some more and let nature take its course.
I do feel a little remorse for letting my flowers down, but I really enjoyed the heck out of not slaving over the yard for a change. It reminds me a bit of the summer as a teenager at my parents’ house when I lay on the couch all summer long and read books. I remember my mother saying to me late in the season, “I don’t think you went outside once this summer.” Yessss!!!! That was my plan!
So I let the garden go this year, and I do feel bad about it. Just a little bit. Well, I suppose there’s always next year.
Books meme courtesy of Pinterest
Welcome to my own version of ‘If We Were Having Coffee’. Awoken at 3:22 a.m. by a persistent nagging tickle in my throat, I now lie awake. My younger son has been sneezing and sniffling so I suspect the same thing in the air that’s been bothering him has gotten to me, too. I got up and used my inhaler and now find my lungs pumping out all kinds of junk, trying to clear themselves. So I cough and clear my throat repeatedly and wait for it to stop so I can get a tad more sleep. As I lie awake, my mind churns and I think about all kinds of things.
I grab my phone and try to jot down a few more lines for my book and don’t find that working particularly well for me at the moment. I need Scrivener and the index cards with my dates and details. Inspiration is not coming without the prompting about where to go next. I need my road map.
I miss my hubby here beside me when he’s on the road. Sometimes the gentle sounds of his breathing (or yes, even his snoring) help soothe me back to sleep. Mostly it’s just the warmth of his body to snuggle up against that brings me comfort and chases bad dreams or unwanted thoughts out of my head. Lying here alone sucks. At the moment I don’t even have feline companionship. Both are elsewhere.
I think about school. Another class nears its end, and it’s one that I have not been enjoying. Although a classmate I barely know made my night last night when she told me she loves reading my posts (“they are so honest. You give clear-cut answers. You are more than you think and have come a long way as most of us have.”) Four more days to go in this class and then I have a month off. I just ordered my textbooks for the fall semester and my next two classes. I only have five classes left to go. I’m not sure how things will turn out once I complete this second degree.
I think about work. I admit it’s been difficult lately, and that’s all I will share here. I try not to mention work in blog posts. Recent days off devoting time and attention to just my hubby has me longing for retirement and a different way of life. I long to just be a wife. I’d be content if that was my sole focus. I almost wish we could afford for me to go on the road with him but we can’t and I’m not a traveler. I crave his company that much.
I think about how my body has betrayed me recently. I threw my back out (again), and after walking crooked for a week, my knee decided to act up as well. I’ve spent a few days feeling more like 86 than 56, and it’s slow coming around. I try not to complain because I know I’m more fortunate than others who can’t walk at all, and mine will heal in time.
I think about the raggedy mess my yard is. Arthritis and my back have prevented my weeding and all the flowerbeds are overgrown and weed-filled. The grass is too long, and I think we have another bee’s nest on the garage. The tangled jungle in the yard depresses me.
It’s silly, but I also think about being a blonde. Life changed somehow when I made that change. Blondes really do have more fun. I picked up a new attitude to go with the hair. Blonde is here to stay.
I think about friends. I talked on the phone last evening with a friend who now lives in North Carolina. I’ve known her for at least thirty years, I spent quite a bit of time at her house at one point in my life, and we worked together on two different jobs. We talk through Facebook, and last night when she asked for my phone number, she called me. It was wonderful to hear her voice again.
I realize now as it approaches 4:30 and I’m still tapping away on my phone that my throat has finally calmed itself enough (after an hour of restlessness) and I think I can now try to sleep for another hour or so. So I will leave you all and return to my slumbers. Good night.
Vince had a few free minutes of time to spend on a weekday afternoon so he decided to stop by the park to work on the flower beds. Since the park was a community project, volunteers from the community did the upkeep and maintenance of the flowers, shrubs and pathways. They were lucky enough to be sponsored by the local garden supply store, and the store supplied the plants, and store crews kept the grass cut.
The park had turned out to be a great thing for the community. Everyone loved how it looked, and many enjoyed the benefits of the hard work that had been expended. Town residents had planted trees, shrubs, and flowers and built the twisting pathways that ran around the perimeter and between the flower beds and shrubbery.
Vince worked at the delicatessen but had been told many times that he had a true green thumb, and he loved working with flowers.
“The gardens look lovely this year!” Sally at the garden store gushed when he stopped to pick up some flats of petunias for the center flower bed.
“Thanks,” he smiled, “It’s not all me. I’ve had plenty of help. Thank the store for supplying the plants. They do such a great job every year. It’s always a privilege to plant what they provide.”
“I’ll let them know,” she smiled.
When Vince showed up at the park, he spent some time weeding the flower beds out by the Market Street sidewalk. He also did a quick walk-through the entire park and picked up the wrappers and trash lying around.
Then he moved on to the center flower bed, moving his trowel and the flats of flowers to where he could easily reach them. He was planting the petunias when he heard voices approaching.
“And here’s his favorite bench,” a little girl’s voice said, “He likes to sit here when it’s nice out. He feeds the squirrels and watches the birds. When I have my allowance, I bring him ice cream cones. He likes chocolate the best.”
“Would you like to sit here for a while, Mr. Webb?” a younger man’s voice asked.
“He doesn’t answer,” the little girl chattered on, “But it’s okay. He listens a lot.”
“He’s listening to you very closely now,” the younger man said, “He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you.”
“We’re friends,” the little girl said.
Vince stood up so he could move to the other side of the flower bed. He glanced over, curious to see who was talking, and he saw an older man sitting on the park bench. Beside him sat a younger man, dressed in what looked like nurse’s scrubs or a uniform of some sort. In front of the bench a little girl had begun singing to herself as she played hopscotch. The older man watched her intently with a faint smile on his face. Vince nodded to the younger man who waved back.
Vince turned to go back to his gardening, already deep in thought about what he could add to the bed that would work well with the petunias. He thought impatiens would work well in the shade at the base of the tree, and he made a mental note to ask Sally if they had any ready.
Image courtesy of Pinterest