Whether I have OCD or not, I don’t know. But if I do, I’m here to tell you — I’m managing it well.
As we speak, I’m sitting in a 4’x4’ roped-off space, on my butt, picking out acorns, weeds, and something called centipede grass. Centipede grass grows like a vine — apparently, some people intentionally plant it. I see it strangling my already healthy grass.
Our lawn is so big that I don’t even know where to start. After hearing Dave’s mom talk about what she did early on when creating their yard, she mentioned using a similar grid system. I need focus. I need… ouch. An acorn point just stabbed me in the thumb. I’ll probably bleed. And that right there is exactly why I’m doing what I’m doing. I can’t walk freely in my grass, can’t frolic through the sprinkler barefoot. Some areas feel like concrete.
Next to me is a wagon full of a mixture of sand and topsoil that I plan to sprinkle into the divots caused by rain. Is this sustainable? Definitely not. This is a project for someone in their peak performance era — always looking for optimal attention-grabbing material.
Two hours later, my fingertips remind me of my early guitar-playing days — the ache of pressing strings before callouses formed. Until they do, even tapping on the keyboard makes my earlier yard work unforgettable.
Also in the yard: Dave and I planted two mimosa trees. Using sand that had washed away from the pool ledge and down the five-foot slope m, we worked to bolster the first tier using firewood from the extra-large pile. The downpour of rain tonight will be the perfect test to see if we should continue building the tier with firewood and clay to keep erosion at bay.
My OCD brain is back — and kind of loving the idea of an extra-large, super-sucking shop vac for small yard waste cleanup. It was either that or the largest plastic sheet imaginable, so when the massive oaks spew forth their trillions of acorns, they’ll have a place to land that’s not my grass. The shop vac feels like a win — I’ve been wanting one for car detailing anyway.
Also today, a water bottle rocket came in the mail for Evelyn from Grandma Paula. She’d heard her friend’s grandkids had a blast with it and figured we would too. And did we ever! The first few times, Evelyn’s handling of the cork meant the pressure built was minimal, so the 10–15 foot lift was about as exciting as cleaning grass of acorns. But when Dave got that seal tighter than tight, it took off like a rocket to the moon, soaring as high as our 60-foot oaks. Here’s a video!
That’s all for me on this Friday night. Take care.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 