Sunday, April 12, 2015
The door to the garden shed is flung wide, and I have to wave the handle of the rake in front of me to break up the spider webs before I step inside. Pots and tools and garden knick knacks I haven't seen since the fall are new to me again.
The roses are so lush, the bushes so heavy, that their blooms dip down toward the ground as if the scent and beauty are too much to bear. We work all afternoon, until someone runs to town for cheeseburgers, and we eat in the garden under the umbrella, admiring our progress.
My niece had her baby. A beautiful little girl with pink skin and a rosebud mouth who came into the world with her eyes wide open. That's the way to do it. The labor was long, (2 days!) but calm and quiet, and we all went to bed that night happy that the waiting was over and everyone was fine.
The rest of the weekend was spent reading through gardening books, sewing yards of binding, and watching baseball on TV. I made the mistake of starting this book on Saturday night, and the next thing I knew it was midnight and I was in very very deep. I am a sucker for historical anything, but especially if it involves the British monarchy.
I want to sew, and sew and sew. There are so many things I want to make, so I write a list, then lose it, then make new lists. Gardening or sewing? How about sewing in the garden? There just aren't enough hours in the weekend.