(We're at 7:00/7:31 right now for sunrise and sunset if you've kept score along with me. And if you're not keeping score let me remind you you should always always be keeping score. Otherwise how else are you going to know who wins?)
I have been a busy Bee today getting caught up on things that feel by the wayside. I ordered all of the landscaping aggregate? Product? Mud? from the most expensive place in town because they come down the driveway at lightning speed in a little red forklift and every year I tell myself I should buy one of those or maybe a tiny mini bulldozer or at least a personal skid steer and then I get mired down and tired of gardening and change my mind. But then I see the buds come out in the spring like popcorn on the cherry trees and the tiniest of ancient buds on the trees in the orchard and all of the lilacs beginning to bust out and I forget how tired I was and do it all over again.
I ordered shoes because I ruined a pair this winter in the mud, speaking of mud, though it was away-mud, not my mud and I was pissed but then I remembered I got the shoes for 65% off because I'm a size six and my local shoe store hasn't figured out how to hide the smaller women's sizes from the discount rack in with the full-price youth sizes and I catch them out every year but the three pairs I bought were destroyed cosmetically long before the structure broke down so I guess I'm the fool and won't buy those again.
The Brooks Ghost line, if you're wondering. Because I do four hundred thousand steps a day and so reserve the nice shoes for sitting and being driven places or dressing up. Not for every day. I've said it once or a million times. Who the fuck dresses up to go to the grocery store or the mall? Not I. Never me.
Anyway, enough about Bridget and her decades of muddy sneakers. Jesus. I'll be nine forever and repeating history until the day I die.
Which may be soon because it's been six or eight months now of whatever is going on where it hurts to take a deep breath but now it's in my back after working it's way slowly around the entirety of my rib cage but it's probably anxiety because I did a lot of scary things and dark-rainy-highway driving this winter and I remained out of my comfort-zone looking in while the warm emanated from the window to which I had pressed my nose but we got everything done that needed to be done and now we're back on the right side of that glass and I feel confident that even though I am the named adult in the room at any given time I have had incredible, touching and supportive offers for others to take on that role if ever I should say the word or ring the bell or drop the ball or whatever would signify that I just can't anymore and that helps a lot. That gives me courage and strength and the fortitude to just keep on trucking.
So yeah, I'm feeling somewhat confident right this second and for some reason that time is always when I want to write these days and so it's half as exciting as it should be because I have nothing to be dramatic about except for the fact that it's spaghetti night and so all hands will be on deck because I cook using my biggest stock pots and there is always extra faces around the big table and very little in the way of leftovers for lunches the next day. It's my signature dish.
Gardening starts Monday so I need to bulk these boys up, after all.