In that earlier posting, when I said the move was (mostly) completed. . . . Well!? THAT turned out to be a lie. I think it's prob'ly true that a move is never completely over. If you're lucky, a move is prob'ly something you spend your entire life doing. But then, how did I know that Tara would
completely reorganize our every cabinet,
vigorously clean stuff I had been content
to let languish in dust and debris,
alter and improve household processes, and
otherwise engage me in endless tasks
designed to improve the house,
while exhausting me.
vigorously clean stuff I had been content
to let languish in dust and debris,
alter and improve household processes, and
otherwise engage me in endless tasks
designed to improve the house,
while exhausting me.
Never mind: I like being told what to do, and doing things I know please Tara. She's my daughter -- TRUE! But she's a bright, fully-grown woman. And she's in charge around here now.
A grown-up daughter is a complete fascination. She surprises me every day. . .creates a swoosh of energy that sucks me in, wakes me up, and engages me in useful tasks that energize me.
I'm alive again. Could be she'll work me to death, though.
For some time now full boxes of non-essential items have been accumulating in the garage. Shoved aside-stuff. Stuff we haven't needed yet. There those last few boxes sat, no doubt feeling sad and neglected. Yesterday was a shoved-aside-stuff day. . .kids' outdoor toys, for instance. Even some stuff the kids've kinda outgrown. Stuff that prob'ly should go into storage, or better-still, to Good Will. We'll see just where it all goes in a week or so.
All day yesterday, Tara worked like a banshee in the utility room. Just outside in the garage, I was breaking into boxes, finding surprises, cleaning out cabinets, throwing out stuff, and reorganizing new space for things I found. Sad thing: I was forced to clean off my work-bench, put away dusty power tools I hadn't used since early spring. What can I say: I like clutter. It creates for visiting friends the erroneous impression I'm a busy and handy person. . .which I sometimes am, but not mostly.
As the day wore on, and things got accomplished, I also rescued and cleaned the dirt-clods off my gardening tools. Poor forsaken shovels and trowels, shears and a variety of cutting tools. They had not engaged my spring-busy hands all summer.
God-bless perennial gardening. Once you get things organized in the spring, perennials take care of themselves. With sufficient water and short periods of vigorous trimming and weeding, they make the laziest gardener look skilled. . .even artistic. I never quite admit to myself I'm a fraud. But lately I've gotten suspicious. Yet, who knows? Maybe, over years of avid gardening I've become adept. A good eye for plant-spacing and color-mixing. Mostly I have good luck with weather and timely puttering, pruning, and weeding. I've learned how to get a lot accomplished with the least effort. Gardening rightly done, need not be frantic. In fact, it should produce beauty and peace.
I like to think my lazy nature works well. Lotsa lazy. And an easy hand with nature. That's me. One reason I love gardening is I somehow acquired as a boy my sainted grandmother's easy-does-it approach. She and her garden lasted well into her seventies. And here I am myself, well into my own seventies. But then she trained me well with the grunt-work. Mostly she had a good eye, an easy hand, and a grandson who worshiped her and liked doing with her the things that made a garden beautiful.
And then, of course, I also enjoyed nearly forty early springs and summers with my wife in our gardens. Two good women in a row for most of seventy years. As I remember saying in an earlier posting: ". . .you are nearer to peace in a garden, than anywhere else on earth." More exactly, I s'pose I'm nearer these two wonderful women I've loved when I'm puttering easily in my gardens. They speak to me, help me cut corners, see clearly and quickly how things can be made more beautiful.
I guess that's what love's s'posed to do: make things more beautiful.
Anyway: spring was yesterday. Now, suddenly the air's full of footballs. Gardening's mostly done. Just the cutting-back and mulching left to do.
And this morning, the garage is finally empty of boxes. They're now cut up and tied, ready for Thursday's trash collection. The moving part of our recent move is complete.
Now we move into our new life. Exciting prospects. Continuing changes. Moving forward.
Things're put away. Now I'm spending good-time doing home-improvement chores for Tara and sword-fighting with my grandchildren. Could be I'll never fully grow-up.
Now there's something good to hope for.
A grown-up daughter is a complete fascination. She surprises me every day. . .creates a swoosh of energy that sucks me in, wakes me up, and engages me in useful tasks that energize me.
I'm alive again. Could be she'll work me to death, though.
For some time now full boxes of non-essential items have been accumulating in the garage. Shoved aside-stuff. Stuff we haven't needed yet. There those last few boxes sat, no doubt feeling sad and neglected. Yesterday was a shoved-aside-stuff day. . .kids' outdoor toys, for instance. Even some stuff the kids've kinda outgrown. Stuff that prob'ly should go into storage, or better-still, to Good Will. We'll see just where it all goes in a week or so.
All day yesterday, Tara worked like a banshee in the utility room. Just outside in the garage, I was breaking into boxes, finding surprises, cleaning out cabinets, throwing out stuff, and reorganizing new space for things I found. Sad thing: I was forced to clean off my work-bench, put away dusty power tools I hadn't used since early spring. What can I say: I like clutter. It creates for visiting friends the erroneous impression I'm a busy and handy person. . .which I sometimes am, but not mostly.
As the day wore on, and things got accomplished, I also rescued and cleaned the dirt-clods off my gardening tools. Poor forsaken shovels and trowels, shears and a variety of cutting tools. They had not engaged my spring-busy hands all summer.
God-bless perennial gardening. Once you get things organized in the spring, perennials take care of themselves. With sufficient water and short periods of vigorous trimming and weeding, they make the laziest gardener look skilled. . .even artistic. I never quite admit to myself I'm a fraud. But lately I've gotten suspicious. Yet, who knows? Maybe, over years of avid gardening I've become adept. A good eye for plant-spacing and color-mixing. Mostly I have good luck with weather and timely puttering, pruning, and weeding. I've learned how to get a lot accomplished with the least effort. Gardening rightly done, need not be frantic. In fact, it should produce beauty and peace.
I like to think my lazy nature works well. Lotsa lazy. And an easy hand with nature. That's me. One reason I love gardening is I somehow acquired as a boy my sainted grandmother's easy-does-it approach. She and her garden lasted well into her seventies. And here I am myself, well into my own seventies. But then she trained me well with the grunt-work. Mostly she had a good eye, an easy hand, and a grandson who worshiped her and liked doing with her the things that made a garden beautiful.
And then, of course, I also enjoyed nearly forty early springs and summers with my wife in our gardens. Two good women in a row for most of seventy years. As I remember saying in an earlier posting: ". . .you are nearer to peace in a garden, than anywhere else on earth." More exactly, I s'pose I'm nearer these two wonderful women I've loved when I'm puttering easily in my gardens. They speak to me, help me cut corners, see clearly and quickly how things can be made more beautiful.
I guess that's what love's s'posed to do: make things more beautiful.
Anyway: spring was yesterday. Now, suddenly the air's full of footballs. Gardening's mostly done. Just the cutting-back and mulching left to do.
And this morning, the garage is finally empty of boxes. They're now cut up and tied, ready for Thursday's trash collection. The moving part of our recent move is complete.
Now we move into our new life. Exciting prospects. Continuing changes. Moving forward.
Things're put away. Now I'm spending good-time doing home-improvement chores for Tara and sword-fighting with my grandchildren. Could be I'll never fully grow-up.
Now there's something good to hope for.
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