Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Today I am grateful for planting. You know that little trip we made to the nursery? Well all of those beautiful plants we paid a fortune for had to be planted.
Yesterday’s water aerobic routine was the most difficult one. I thought my legs were going to drop off by the time we were done. I wish that at least parts of them had because think how much weight I’d have lost. Afterwards, I was teaching the kids to “swim”, aka, not clutch my flesh like hysterical lobsters. Ask me how that worked out. I spent an hour bench-pressing three-year-olds. When I got home I was exhausted, made a cup of coffee and sat to read the paper before running to errands and going to two grocery stores the size of Jakarta. By the time we were done it was 3:30. Here’s the conversation.
Me: I’m all done. I’m not planting any of those plants today. By the time I get all of this crap put away all I want is a fist-full of ibuprophen, a bucket of water and my chair.
Him: You don’t have to. Then I don’t have to bring anything up from the basement?
Me: No. I’m done.
I sat with the water, eating ibuprophen like popcorn and watched the news. The weather came on. It’s going to rain later and for the next four days. Crap. I should get those plants in the ground. I rested, even napped for ten pissed-off minutes.
When looking for pictures of “planting” I found happy, smiling faces of gleefull people, dressed in lovely gardening outfits, gently scooping earth and tucking happy little sprouts into well-turned ground. That ain’t me. I put on my old, too tight, ugly, grass-green stretch pants and my red Canada shirt with the paint stains. I looked like a mutant Christmas tree in a Saturday Night Live spoof.
Behind my house is a berm. Do you know what a berm is? It’s a mountain. I love it because it gives some privacy. I hate it because it’s steep and difficult to come up and down. That’s where I plant. Swell. I dragged the tools, potting soil, plants up the hill, making six trips. I go up a hill okay with the new knees. Down, not so much.
There is no soil. It’s clay with bark over the top. I call it a development garden! I wouldn’t be surprised if I found an old toilet while I’m digging. Now there are trees and roots to aid the joy of gardening. For the first few plants I chopped and dug and pick axed sweet little holes, actually cutting roots to make way for my pretty little begonias. I put a handful of soil in just to tease them and patted them gently like a babies bottom. By the last one my patience were wearing thin and I jammed them in the bark and said, “Figure it out! I have to.” I talk to plants because it’s supposed to help.
Moving around on the ground when you’re large is a challenge. Especially if you can’t/won’t kneel. Getting up is, well. . .I’m sure you’ll see it on U-tube someday, posted by one of my neighbors. I have to butt-walk to a spot where I can put my hands down on one side, spin, turn and push up on my bursitis riddled shoulder all in one smooth move, with minimum time on my knees. I call it a “Triple-sitz-bursa-busting-fluffy-lutz-spin-with-a-half-nelson-arm-breaking-twist!” I nail the landing. Not pretty, but I do not do a Humpty-Dumpty down that “berm” so I give it an 8.6.
I’m so grateful for planting. Mostly because it’s done! I have an appointment with the orthopedic guy today anyway. He’ll earn his new condo on my aching shoulder. Let the rains begin. Got any ibuprophen?
Each and every day I find something to be grateful for. My gratitude's are heartfelt, personal, moving and often humorous. Facebook followers have encouraged me to branch out. I hope you will relate.
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