Ah, yes – the morning sky that makes me wish I could paint. It hardly renders the carnelian in the shaded cloud, nor the rose-pink of the sun-lit portion. And never mind that impossible to express turquoise shade of blue melding into the darker tints of dawn. No matter – that was the sky that greeted me this morning as I sent Sarge off to an early day.
It was a productive weekend. I managed on Friday to be declared guilty of hate speech on a – wait for it – knitting site. The offensive post was removed by the owners – which I hold well within their right even though there IS NO SUCH THING AS HATE SPEECH YOU MORONIC CREATURES.
That done, I thought I’d might as well take out some of my frustration on the overgrown shrubberies in front of the house. The Texas Sage had gone from its declared “miniature” status to full-on mini-tree. (This after a rough shearing in the early spring…) And then the roses – old fashioned, they are covered in thorns and huge canes fought hard as I labored to find their base. Out with the old to allow the new, you see. New being the rather difficult digging out and moving to another part of the yard with a good trellis to hold them. But that is for another weekend.
Several bags full of clippings, I’ve another yard full of branches to break down and stuff so that shall be my luncheon. I haven’t felt these muscles ache in a long time. And that was with the aid of Sarge. Much easier to point at the offending cane and have it dispatched without grunts and tears of rage. A mere closure of his hands brought the blade through. Bloody damned strong, he is. And allow me to note that the Duluth Trading gauntlet gloves were SUPERB. Very few thorns managed to break through the hide and considering it was two days of yanking and shoving, that was quite a feat.
It was the Saturday comraderie, though, that made the rough times easier. The semi-quarterly meeting of the Heinous Knitting Bitches was called to order – or disorder – and the good times rolled. The menfolk watched football as we cackled and hooted over one story and another. And a few more guests were brought to the dark side, knitting their first stitches as we surely terrified them with talk of Stashes. We refrained from the mention of Wollmeise – that siren song of sheeply gods, that Arthurian myth of yarn…the Unobtainium of fleece. That is a Higher Mystery for another day.
But it was a mini-vacation, really…a Really Good Day. Strange that they are so rare as to stand out that way…
I was reminded of one thing, though – I am never so happy as when performing such labors. I love the feel of heavy limbs after hard work – of seeing the evidence of your work in a neat row of bags, in the cleared and pretty brickwork…I was remembering my old garden full of roses and the pond and the gazebo with swing…of how I took that year off and blew through that 401k while I restored the garden and my sanity. It was surprising how inexpensive it was to live when all you wanted was a roof and some food. I don’t think I paid more than $20k that year for that amazing sabbatical. Lord only knows what it would cost now, eh? Still…that work, that labor…it feels good. Very good, indeed.