This morning I tackled my flowerbeds.
They've been there, waiting for me, for weeks, and it was only last night's firm decision to venture out that stirred me from the stupor of an overcast sleepy morning.
Lil' Snip kept me company, wandering around in his inadequate Crocs through still-dewy grass while I pulled henbit and chickweed from the scanty irises and emerging hosta. I uncovered a spiderwort that I'd forgotten about. Divided and transplanted a primrose in full flower. Made a pile of sticks for our bonfire pile.
My winter-stiff gardening gloves grew slick and supple from the moist soil and lush weeds, and before I knew it, all that was left in the flowerbed was flowers, and it was time for Lil' Snip's morning crib-time.
I lounged with my laptop while he played in his crib, Sugar and Spice playing Legos in the next room.
My Farmer and Nice came home from the dentist and he & I drank coffee and sampled the truffles he'd found at the dent-n-bent store, while Nice busied herself opening all the packages of toothbrushes and toothpaste.
When he could delay it no longer, my Farmer headed in to work, and Lil' Snip and I headed back out to the next flowerbed, beckoning the Lego Ladies (a.k.a. Sugar and Spice) to come join us. Nice finished watering the plants in the sunporch and came out to join her sisters in fort-building.
Lil' Snip found a [child-sized] hoe and told me he would "shovel" with me. I found a spot near me where he could do no harm, and he "shoveled" away while I attacked the rosebed. Wild strawberries flourished here with henbit and creeping charlie and virginia creepers - apparently all the leaf litter makes that bed a vine paradise. I pulled and pulled, uprooting all manner of trespassers with abandon, starting from the edges and ruthlessly working my way back. Lil' Snip called encouragement from time to time: "We're doing good, Mommy! Good!"
I filled a wheelbarrow with my weeds.
Finally you could see clearly the daffodils I'd put in last year, the tolerant ferns that refused to die despite my neglect, even some columbine that had braved the jungle. The chrysanthemum had mysteriously disappeared (not the first one in my care to do so), and some feverfew that had been there apparently accompanied the henbit to the rubbish heap in the wheelbarrow. Humph, well, it shouldn't look so much like a weed!
Next I approached my eight-year-old Don Juan rose, pruners in gloved hand. No time to read up on rose-pruning. I knew myself: it was now or never. I cut off obviously dead bits, snipped off crossed or inward-growing branches, and topped the ones that towered above my head. It was an experiment in horticulture that I could only hope worked out.
About then Sugar called over to me: "It's time to go in!!" Where had the time gone? Lunchtime already?!
Lil' Snip and I dumped the weeds behind the shop while his sisters went inside to make lunch. He showed me where our Polish crested chicken has hidden a nest; I had to make myself as small as he is to see her!
We went in, glowing, to put away our tools and wash up. Nothing like a little sunshine and dirt to make you feel pleasantly virtuous.
Showing posts with label sun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sun. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
sunpower
It's bright out, now, but *shadowless. The children are all tucked up for Quiet Time - Lil' Snip asleep, Nice with her three books, and Sugar & Spice with mathbooks and a Bible assignment (to probe Proverbs for health wisdom). I curl up on the sofa with the laptop and my carbs of choice (Cheez-Its today, and new-to-me Breton crackers), having left a message for a friend to call, vacillating now between my blog or Seinfeld re-runs.
[Blogging won, thanks to guilt, and yesterday's glut of Seinfeld.]
It's not quite overcast, and yet, not sunny either. Something about the weather keeps me inside myself. Even a phone call is hard to make.
Earlier, the sun shone - brightly, as if it meant to stay; as if spring were here now, and not weeks away - and I found myself jolted out of my inertia, and cleaning windows, of all things. The fresh air invigorated, the glass sparkled, all was right with my world.
Now the sun is in, you can hardly tell a difference in those windows.
Will it shine again before they're spotted and dusty, to show off my work?
Thoughts come slow today. Guilt is not a good muse. And all those poems I read to my daughters (the Sonnets to the Portuguese is what we're on) shame my commonplace, contemporary, inadequate writing.
A week ago, someone stumbled on my blog, searching for Janet Gehman, who (whom?) I mentioned in a post about chocolate. She was my English teacher, taught me about Shakespeare and possibilities; her crooked smile will always be one of my favorites. I wonder where she is now, and who was looking for her, and if she knows how much she gave me. I'd like to thank her, please her somehow, to give back. I'd like to see that smile again. She always seemed to have some secret delight for her fuel.
It's chilly here. The pellet stove is burning but it has some catch-up to do, since the sun went in. My Cheez-Its are gone and my friend hasn't called.
Maybe it's time for some Seinfeld.
*At a meeting for artists last month, David Nolt, a local painter, talked about a painting he did for a group of children. The elements were all in place, but lacked depth. He told the children to watch, he was going to make the sun come out. I pictured, immediately, highlights, dabs of white and yellow, the way a landscape brightens when the bank of clouds rolls away. Instead he said, "and then I painted shadows."
The shadows have stuck with me. They're how you know the sun is shining.
[Blogging won, thanks to guilt, and yesterday's glut of Seinfeld.]
It's not quite overcast, and yet, not sunny either. Something about the weather keeps me inside myself. Even a phone call is hard to make.
Earlier, the sun shone - brightly, as if it meant to stay; as if spring were here now, and not weeks away - and I found myself jolted out of my inertia, and cleaning windows, of all things. The fresh air invigorated, the glass sparkled, all was right with my world.
Now the sun is in, you can hardly tell a difference in those windows.
Will it shine again before they're spotted and dusty, to show off my work?
Thoughts come slow today. Guilt is not a good muse. And all those poems I read to my daughters (the Sonnets to the Portuguese is what we're on) shame my commonplace, contemporary, inadequate writing.
A week ago, someone stumbled on my blog, searching for Janet Gehman, who (whom?) I mentioned in a post about chocolate. She was my English teacher, taught me about Shakespeare and possibilities; her crooked smile will always be one of my favorites. I wonder where she is now, and who was looking for her, and if she knows how much she gave me. I'd like to thank her, please her somehow, to give back. I'd like to see that smile again. She always seemed to have some secret delight for her fuel.
It's chilly here. The pellet stove is burning but it has some catch-up to do, since the sun went in. My Cheez-Its are gone and my friend hasn't called.
Maybe it's time for some Seinfeld.
*At a meeting for artists last month, David Nolt, a local painter, talked about a painting he did for a group of children. The elements were all in place, but lacked depth. He told the children to watch, he was going to make the sun come out. I pictured, immediately, highlights, dabs of white and yellow, the way a landscape brightens when the bank of clouds rolls away. Instead he said, "and then I painted shadows."
The shadows have stuck with me. They're how you know the sun is shining.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Sunday best
I rose from a much-needed nap, chilled after being too warm. Spotting sunbeams, I opened the back porch door and soaked in the shine, dazed by the brightness and still groggy.
It warmed me as it woke me: slowly.
I took in the view, familiar, and always fresh. Drenched in golden beams of afternoon, it all looked haloed. The grass, so green it glowed, was not just lawn to mow, but jewel-toned food for eyes. All the leaves and trunks of trees were edged in brilliance.
The night before a daughter asked a Daddy why we wear our Sunday best to church. I didn't catch the answer, but looked around me now, engulfed in golden warmth, and saw a Sunday best that's not just saved for Sunday, but daily on display to feed my soul with beauty.
And the gifts just keep coming, heedless of season (outside or in my heart), pouring into my lap like love ....
: :
# 225 - that my Farmer bathes the crying one now
# 226 - his sacrificial love for me
# 227 - ethnic food, most 'specially (today) flan and Tanzanian chicken curry
# 228 - sun-warmed skin
# 229 - a needed nap
# 230 - a golden evening
# 231 - an extra minute with my Farmer over breakfast
# 232 - a new kitten - serendipitous!
It warmed me as it woke me: slowly.
I took in the view, familiar, and always fresh. Drenched in golden beams of afternoon, it all looked haloed. The grass, so green it glowed, was not just lawn to mow, but jewel-toned food for eyes. All the leaves and trunks of trees were edged in brilliance.
The night before a daughter asked a Daddy why we wear our Sunday best to church. I didn't catch the answer, but looked around me now, engulfed in golden warmth, and saw a Sunday best that's not just saved for Sunday, but daily on display to feed my soul with beauty.
And the gifts just keep coming, heedless of season (outside or in my heart), pouring into my lap like love ....
: :
# 225 - that my Farmer bathes the crying one now
# 226 - his sacrificial love for me
# 227 - ethnic food, most 'specially (today) flan and Tanzanian chicken curry
# 228 - sun-warmed skin
# 229 - a needed nap
# 230 - a golden evening
# 231 - an extra minute with my Farmer over breakfast
# 232 - a new kitten - serendipitous!
Thursday, April 14, 2011
the sun cure
I just spent the better part of an hour in my husband's greenhouse.
Hit by the heat (it was 105 degrees Fahrenheit), I opened the jaw of the vent wider. I watered the lettuces and the children's hopeful log-lined garden plots, twice. I hooked the water wand over the hydrant, ready for next time. And then, I sat on the permanently reclining green chair at the back and just basked in the sun.
When I opened the door to leave, thinking it had been only a few minutes, the temperature dropped about 20 degrees in the open air. Everything looked a bit dim. Two mourning doves took flight. Tiny little blue flowers in the grass shivered under a honeybee's attentions. A squirrel scampered off, interrupted. I had to reorient myself, like coming home from vacation.
On the way back to the house, I took off my flipflops and walked barefoot on the grass.
My husband (let's see, what shall I call him on this blog.....?) has, for the last two months, regularly recommended this treatment - greenhouse time. Somehow, though, once the children are all separated for quiet time, the allure of a snack and a good book drives all thoughts of the outdoors from my mind. I just want to shut down, as quickly as possible, for my own little quiet time.
He was right, though (as he very often is). There is something very physically relaxing about green things and Extreme Sun (it was down to about 90 when I left). It's as if my very pores are hit with tranquilizers, and the effect lingers.
So I spent my time lying in the sun instead of catching up on email or starting supper or crossing something off my to-do list. My chores all still here, none the worse for the wait.
And even away from the sun, my skin still tingles.
Hit by the heat (it was 105 degrees Fahrenheit), I opened the jaw of the vent wider. I watered the lettuces and the children's hopeful log-lined garden plots, twice. I hooked the water wand over the hydrant, ready for next time. And then, I sat on the permanently reclining green chair at the back and just basked in the sun.
When I opened the door to leave, thinking it had been only a few minutes, the temperature dropped about 20 degrees in the open air. Everything looked a bit dim. Two mourning doves took flight. Tiny little blue flowers in the grass shivered under a honeybee's attentions. A squirrel scampered off, interrupted. I had to reorient myself, like coming home from vacation.
On the way back to the house, I took off my flipflops and walked barefoot on the grass.
He was right, though (as he very often is). There is something very physically relaxing about green things and Extreme Sun (it was down to about 90 when I left). It's as if my very pores are hit with tranquilizers, and the effect lingers.
So I spent my time lying in the sun instead of catching up on email or starting supper or crossing something off my to-do list. My chores all still here, none the worse for the wait.
And even away from the sun, my skin still tingles.
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