hands and knees…

Yes. I’ve spent the day on my hands and knees. I don’t actually know how to garden any other way. I see people doing stand up gardening all the time. I can’t figure that out. Me. I’m gettin’ down. On the ground. Crawling around. I’m the kid making mud pies — only older. I only wore gloves today, because I was handling manure. Yeah. I know. Sexy.

It gets worse. After it started to rain, I came up to my office and got down on my — yep — hands and knees and sorted and shredded paper. Do these sound like vacation thrills to you?

Where are the drinks with little umbrellas? I’d settle for a Guinness with my nice, hot soak in the tub. I just don’t think it’ll go all that well with the fistful of Advil I’m planning to take. I need all the anti-inflammatory I can get, so that I can do this all over again tomorrow.

It doesn’t seem to matter how often I go to the gym. Gardening uses a whole other muscle group. Seriously.

On the bright side, the gardens are beginning to look gardenesque. The Viola labradorica purpurea are in. I love them so much, I’m getting more. The shrubs are still in the negotiation hopper. The other bright side is that, while I’m doing all this hand-knee-manure-shoveling-stuff, my brain is quietly poking around in my story. It’s a good thing, as Martha would say.

I’ve got a great gardening buddy, too —

We play? We play? ~ The Sequel