What I’ll leave behind in nine minutes as I trek downstairs to a final counseling session is sitting cross-legged on the deck, the cat’s nose pressed against the screened window, Archie back wrestling an itch into the lawn, Dave laying out on a lawn chair, as Evelyn naps on the couch inside.
Did you know taking more than 11 lbs of a specific food product into Israel is illegal? Dave’s reading the New York Times and tells me that Americans are smuggling fruit roll-ups in after a TikTok video created a craze. Supposedly you scoop ice cream on, roll them up, and they crunch when you bite. It’s all about the crunch.
I’m so in love with how lush nature is. The saturated ground with full sun days is luring the grass upwards like the flute of a snake charmer.
There’s a 4×4 low spot on the lawn, and a project is developing in my mind – either it’s a pond (nah, that’s too expensive and laborious to maintain), or I mark out a circle, dig it out, and start a natural pollinator garden.
It’s in a mossy, wet area, so finding shade-tolerant plants is necessary. A website suggests: Trillium, begonias, violets, columbine, hostas, bleeding heart, Carolina jessamine, trumpet creeper, bugleweed ajuga, and hardy geranium.
Random, I know but I miss riding horses. I often spent time at my calf roping friend’s house in high school. They put me on a horse they sedated due to how fast and strong it was. Riding that fast was unbelievably rewarding; and since, nothing’s come close to that feeling.
It’s both hard and lovely having a three-year-old. I want her to be older, out of the blotchy-faced, unconsolable nonsensicalness. But then again I don’t. I love being there for her, even when it’s hard because she brings me so much joy.
That’s all I got. Time for bed.
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