Blogger's Block

How's that for some apropos alliteration?

I really wasn't quite sure how long it had been since the last time I'd posted until just now when I checked the date. Not quite a week? Feels longer.

And I'd love to go into oh such great detail about the Latest Happenings 'round here, but have been advised against it, by my very sage mother. Knowing me, this reticence to share intensely personal details of my life will last for only a requisite short while, but, maybe every minute counts. Succinctly put: Big, Big Revelations to come concerning my past. Let's hope that along the journey, my load is lighter than it has felt, well, since forever. I hate being cryptic.

So enough of that, and on to my latest foray into some sort of natural therapy with which to calm the nerves and re-direct the negativity. Spring has...yes....("we" *read: I* don't do cliches) and in light of this, and aided by my very impulsive, compulsive nature, I've taken to the furled, tangled, monstrous mess of God knows what in between healthy hosta plants flowerbeds in front of our townhouse. I've no idea what I'm doing. None. For once, I don't care much, either. Normally when I begin a task such as this, I've done my online research, I've picked my co-worker's brains, I've read the glossary, etc. This time, nada. Just a little spade shovel (see, not even sure if that's what it's called), some cheapo rain boots from Walmart, the aforementioned monstrosity, and a few sweet pink geranium plants from Mom. It started with the geraniums....

....then....two hours later....and half the bed cleared....I fell into mine, exhausted and (dare I say it?) happy.

That half-cleared flower bed called my name all morning too, in between orders for triple tall half-caf lattes and orange mango banana vivannos. By the time I was on my third espresso macchiato of the morning, I'd already planned my trip to Marc's and was pleasantly surprised to receive a text from my darling husband who had just so happened to plan a Daddy and Co. picnic over lunchtime...leaving me free to rush over and buy some flowers after a lovely dentistry appt. Just l-o-v-e-l-y.

I've only started small (?). About a tray and a half, along with six vegetable plants. No biggie. We'll see what happens. More joyous root-pulling ensued this afternoon, and it was fantastic cloudy hazy weather for it. I mean seriously, what could be more fulfilling than carefully poking and prodding, digging around and gently following the dratted thing until you've got it out where it began? It's almost - ALMOST - as good as pinning down that exact verbiage which denotes the very unique, extremely specific emotion you're experiencing so that you can capture your reader and hold him in the experience with you. *sigh*

Lest I've lost you with lofty allusions to onomatopeia and imagery as they relate to weeding - meet my new friend.

We passed briefly while working around each other this afternoon. He was amenable enough, and I promised to do my very best at not disturbing his environment. See, I know nothing about gardening. For all I know, he plans on snacking on my every last viola. Again, we shall see.

My other (much better, bit cuter, more verbal) little friend helped by watering the gnome. Very important, gnome-watering. How else is he going to grow? I ask you. I shall have to pick up some small flowering plant to nestle in his little bucket for her....or, just let her live in her perfect imaginary little world where gnome-watering is crucial and necessary to said gnome's existence. I'm kind of leaning towards the latter.

And when did I start capitalizing things again? Well that's an interesting little step in a different direction. Feels less cobwebby. I think I might just like it. I think I might just keep it.

Incidentally - something else I'll keep, and store in the forefront of this mangled, tangled brain of mine....the very warm and pleasant, kelly-green appearing and smoky espresso smelling thoughts of those Great Starbucks Customers who matter more than they know, with their genuine appreciation of my work.....I'd name you all and your drink, but I know not every red-blooded American is as prone to airing their dirty chai laundry as I am.

Aren't hostas gorgeous?

-A Changed Woman