Mr. Moon and I weeded for about five hours yesterday which leads me to the understanding that we are not smart gardeners because if we were, we'd be doing raised beds but we're not and both of us walked around last night groaning and stretching and rubbing our backs and groaning some more and I'm doing the same thing today.
You wouldn't think that weeding is such hard work but dammit, it is. I was talking to May about it this morning and she said, "It's like cleaning your bathtub for five hours."
Yes. That's it.
Only a lot dirtier.
As we worked in the garden, the sky would bruise up to the north and the wind would blow stiff and strong and we'd both smile and sigh and say, "Nie," quoting Owen, you know, as it cooled our sweaty skin and it even thundered a few times and but nothing happened beyond the popping and dropping of random rotten branches and still, no rain.
After we were done we planted the eggplant and peppers and a few tomatoes but neither one of us had the strength or energy to go ahead and get the bean and cuke and zinnia seeds in. No way. Mr. Moon took a shower and I decided to take the garden cart around and very, very slowly pick up dead branches and kick a little bamboo to try and limber up my weeding muscles and then I took my shower and we played a little cards on the back porch and then we got silly and fooled around some and then I cooked dinner which was leftover pasta with another loaf of home made bread and damn, it was better than the night before. I didn't even mess with a salad.
After that it was all sort of a dream of wandering around, the bed pulling us with great gravity and finally, we quit resisting and the lights were out before ten-thirty and that's how it goes.
None of this has been about complaint, let me tell you. I am completely and fully aware today of how precious it is that both of us still have the strength to do our gardening, to work in the yard, to live the way we live. That point has been driven home this weekend, watching as both my own mother and Billy's grandparents are at a place where they're going to have to have help and no two ways around it.
One day you're fully independent and can get around fine and take out your trash and remember how to write checks and pay bills and drive to the store or even to Kentucky and the next day you're not sure how to do anything and your body doesn't remember how to walk right.
I don't care who you are, it happens.
The day comes when you have to admit that you cannot do it any more and it'll happen to me and Mr. Moon, too, unless a truck hits us before then or we decide to take up heroin and overdose together watching the sunset which we have discussed doing but probably won't. When we were in our thirties, that seemed like a fairly sensible way to end our days and not be a burden on our children but how in hell does an elderly person score junk?
So. I'm sore.
That's why they make Ibuprofen.
I can still swing Owen up on my hip with one arm and I can weed for five hours in a row and then pick up branches and then fool around and then make supper.
And I'm going to work in the yard today. All day if I can. I told Mr. Moon he can plant the seeds because he likes those rows STRAIGHT and I never get 'em straight enough and that'll drive him crazy all summer long so it will just be for the best if he plants them.
My potatoes are coming up. The rows aren't straight but the plants come up rather randomly anyway so that's okay. If the ants don't eat them all, we'll have some potatoes this year. And maybe peas if they'll hurry up. I remember being a young hippie-mama-gardener and cooking new potatoes and sugar snap peas with a cream sauce and I still think that's about the best thing ever.
How many more years will we be able to plant potatoes and peas? How many more years will I be able to cook them?
I don't know. But I tell you what- I'm going to do both for as long as I can.
And I probably won't buy heroin but I already buy Ibuprofen by the case-load.
Time to go put on the overalls. I did a load of laundry last night and so they're clean and ready to go and that's another thing I'm grateful for- I can still do laundry.
I'll probably never not be able to do laundry. Unless someone cuts my arms off.
So I guess my point here is this- when you're young, all these chores and daily tasks seem so damn endless, pointless and burdensome at times but honestly? They're the very stuff of life and if we're lucky, we'll always be able to do them and the older we get, the more we know that.
And if you're smart, you'll get in shape while you're young and work at staying that way because there's nothing in this world that you'll need to be stronger for than aging.
Happy Sunday, y'all.
Love...Ms. (Aged, Aching) Moon