Only a couple of weeks separate us from the official beginning of spring, and I can hardly wait. Actually, I haven’t waited. I’ve been out digging in the dirt every time I get half a chance. If you look closely, you might see under my fingernails a bit of dirt that simply wouldn’t wash or brush away because sometimes when my gloves are not available, I espy an offending weed in my flower bed. Saturday, I worked in the clematis bed until I ached, but the level of the pain and the level of the satisfaction were about equal. All is well. I’ve struggled with rattlesnake weed until I dream about it choking me, but I think I have it tamed, not conquered—at least for now. I know I’ll have to fight it again at some time or other. C’est la vie.
When my thorn-proof gloves came in, I was ecstatic to find that they do work. I don’t reach into those vicious Don Juan roses without those gloves. I worked on roses for half a day last week and got not even one prick from the thorns. Where were these elbow-high wonders all my life? I’ve needed them forever.
Now tonight, I lie here on the bed and try to comfort my scared dogs as the rains flood from the sky. The thunder booms and the lightning flashes, lighting the windows from the outside. The dogs’ scared eyes look to Larry and me to save them from the terrifying noises. I don’t even know if I’ll have any flower beds left tomorrow after Mother Nature finishes her tirade tonight. She’s really on a tear. Whatever the morning brings though, we’ll face it and move on. I fear there’ll be a lot worse damage than torn up flower beds. Funny how we humans are so resilient. Our only other choice is to bury our heads in the sand and give up, which is not very productive.
The lovely weather has provided us several opportunities to sit out in the back yard with the dogs this week. When twilight, my favorite time of day, arrives, we amble out to the hammock to enjoy a little resting time. I settle into the hammock; the dogs choose their favorite spots and stretch out. We’re there about five minutes before the battalions of melodic mosquitos arrive. They’re fatter than I’ve ever seen them before. They seem to have wintered in some tropical place and are eager to get back to business. One settles on my arm for a sip, but I see him first—one insect life ended young. The extraordinarily mild winter has been good for the mosquito population. When we step out the door, we’ll have to wear suits of armor this summer. We’d better get ready.
Time is marching right along. Already we’re in the third month of 2019. The stores are bright with Easter decorations—wreaths with eggs and flowers in all the bright spring colors. Bathing suits decorate the clothing sections, while sweaters and coats in abundance fill the clearance racks. I have several coats I didn’t even take out of the closet this winter. They say time waits for no man. I suppose that’s true. With time moving so fast, if we take a minute or two and call someone we haven’t talked to lately, think what a difference we could make. Sometimes we wait too long and then regret washes over us like all that rain outside. Stop what you’re doing right now and call an old friend. I plan to do that later today. Happy visiting.