The Blahs

I got 'em.  Barely had the energy to wriggle today.  Oh, I walked around the block, stopped to talk to a couple neighbors, I even planted some, but mostly I sat on the couch staring at the TV.  Didn't knit, didn't sew, didn't write--except now.  I asked at the grief group tonight when you stop paying attention to "how long it's been since..." and they said usually after the first year, the first year of firsts without your person.  The opening words tonight were about feeling fuzzy and how that's normal.  Fuzzy, I guess that's how I felt today.  Lethargic might be a better word.  But I'll walk again tomorrow and I'll meet with the trainer and tomorrow's the knitting guild annual picnic so I won't just sit around.  Keep moving, that's what I try to do.




The yellow Asiatic Lilies out front are giving it their best, trying to make up for the rest of the plants that aren't there anymore.




 

There are a lot of rosebuds on Dad's Rosebush getting ready to burst out red and fragrant.  This is not a hybrid rose, one that's had the fragrance bred out of it, so it really smells like a rose is supposed to smell.  Thanks, Dad.



You wouldn't think that orange and purple would look that good together but you'd be wrong.  Look at this poppy.  It's amazing and they should stick around longer than they do.

This potato has sprouted out the top of the straw but also sent a shoot out the side.  Maybe that means it'll make more taters.  I hope.







 
I finally planted the sugar snap pea seeds I bought a couple weeks ago across the back of the asparagus patch.  The seeds were pink.  I don't know why, I just hope a few of them grow.  I love sugar snap peas.



I also evicted the dying Wandering Jew from the hanging basket, got out another one, and planted the four Lantana plants I got at the garden center the other day in them instead.  Hummingbirds and butterflies like Lantana.

 

I planted the four Butterfly Weed plants too.  Three of them got planted in around the blueberries and the last one got planted by the third row of bales.  I can't decide if they're perennials or annuals.  I think one of the ones I planted last year came back but I need to look it up.  What a good idea, Barbara!

19 June--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon.

I checked the time on the old mantle clock and decided I could paint another hour and not be too tired in the morning.  My steps were light as I crossed the kitchen to the studio.  But I ended up spending an hour moving lamps around and changing the bulbs for higher wattage ones trying to shed some better light on my work, and not painting.

Monday evening brought the anticipated call from Matthew, my youngest.

            “So, Mom, you’re finally turning into a hippie, huh?  I guess you missed it in the seventies.”

            I had to laugh.  “No, I am not turning into a hippie.  I bought some jeans and new sweaters, yes.  And, yes, I took up watercolor painting.  I’m not burning incense or smoking grass or anything else for that matter.  Evidently Aaron called.”

            “Actually, it was Sam.  Or should I say, Samuel, now that he’s turned into an expensive San Francisco lawyer.  Merry announced that we have to call him Samuel now, ‘as befits his position’ I was pointedly told.  That woman is some piece of work.”

            “Be nice, Matty.  I like Merry and she’s a good wife for Sam.  Growing up with a mother who was never satisfied with anything couldn’t have been good for her.  She’s so insecure that she needs to build a wall of pretension around herself, that’s all.  Inside is a very sweet girl.  So, what did Sam tell you?”

            “Let’s see, that you’ve changed your hair and clothes, that you’re meeting all sorts of weirdoes and kooks in that painting class, and, this is what upset him the most I think, you’re attracting men left and right.  Are you turning into a femme fatale, Mother?”

            “Oh, you bet I am.”

“Should I send you a big stick for Christmas so you can beat the men off?”

“I don’t think so.  One of my conquests is about a hundred years old with the worst breath on the planet, and the other one is in his late sixties or early seventies and fancies himself the world’s best gardener.  He works at the garden center and pontificates at length about his "horticultural experience."  Every time I see him, I want to run the other way.  But that’s enough about me, how are my brilliant grandsons and beautiful daughter-in-law?”

            “The kids are great.  They’re getting excited about Halloween.  All that candy’s just what they need.  Jim is just as serious as ever; he reminds me of Sam.  Lisa and I have started calling him the president of second grade.”

“But not in front of him, right?  That would be cruel.”

“Don’t worry, Mom.  We won’t give any of them a complex.  We believe in letting them get their own.”

“Matthew Logan, you be nice.  What about the other boys?”

“Mike and Luke have taken over their kindergarten class.  Every week Lisa gets another note from the teacher asking us to come in so she can tell us about some mischief they’ve gotten into.  And Noah’s learned that the dog likes vegetables so there’s a constant rain of them from the high chair.  All in all, just about normal, I guess.”

I thought Matt sounded like a proud patriarch talking about his rambunctious grandchildren, when in fact he was the twenty-eight-year-old father of four active boys.  He had always been the most laid-back of my sons.  Nothing ever disturbed his easygoing attitude. “It sounds to me like you and Lisa are having about as much fun as your dad and I did when the three of you were small.  How are things at work?”

“Good.  We got in a new DD-214.  It’s a gigantic bulldozer made in Japan.  I’m having a blast learning how to fix them.”

I had to smile listening to the man who’d spent his boyhood playing in the sandbox with every Tonka truck ever sold, glad that he’d followed his dreams and opened his own shop, specializing in servicing construction equipment, even if it was in a city two-hundred miles away.  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.  Is Lisa able to talk or is she busy refereeing?”

“Nope.  We waited to call until the troops were down for the night.  Here she is.”

I could picture my tiny, blond daughter-in-law sitting slumped on the couch, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

“Hi, Gail.  How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart.  You sound tired.  The boys driving you crazy?”

            “Not any more than normal.  I called Sara this morning to find out what was going on with you that sent Sam into such a tizzy.  Honestly, men can be such babies when things change.”

I heard Matt’s voice rumble in the background, then Lisa said,  “Not you of course, darling.  You’re the most adaptable of men.  Now leave me alone to talk to your mother.  Go play with your new toy.  There, he’s gone.  Now we can talk.”

“What’s his new toy?”

“He got a computer.”

“Matt has a computer?”

“Don’t be so surprised that the wrench-boy likes them.  He looks at it as just another tool.  Aaron helped us pick one out.  The kids will need one for school soon. Matt and Jim sit there by the hour and look up things about animals and giant trucks.  But I want to hear about you.  What’s going on?”

So for the third time in two days I told all about my class, new friends, new clothes, and the changes I was making in the garden.  I went on at length about Floyd and Abel.  “Men are just too much trouble to look after.  I’m having fun being by myself, doing what I want to do when I want to do it.” 

“Then that’s what you should do.  You just have to make sure you don’t encourage those guys if you’re not interested.  That would be mean.  But men are good for some things, Gail.  You know, like opening pickle jars and stuff like that.”

Fingers crossed that the blahs of today are gone tomorrow.  Maybe I'll ignore them better anyway.
--Barbara