Our garden needs cutting back and down and digging out and starting all over again. Just like the 80 year old pipes with valves that no longer close all the way, the overgrown rhododendrons have gone past charm and usefulness and threaten to meet each other across the front steps, blocking our way into the house. I meant to do something about it last year, but what seemed so obvious and important in the spring had fallen off the visible list of priorities by the time fall rolled around, the right time to be cutting down and digging out and re-planting.
In the backyard, an overgrown lilac and a flowering apple tree in need of less drastic pruning also wait for human touch.
These are just the first few items on my list of things and creatures requiring my attention.
On the table is an application for faraway Land O’Lakes Academy, with sections I must complete. In files on Microsoft Word are sermons begun for Maundy Thursday and Easter. There is a call to return to my accountant about quarterly payments and excise taxes, and I must try and reach the plumber again, and clothes need washing, and I need to leave again in fifteen minutes.
Time goes by too quickly. I feel my middle agedness today, the speed with which my children grow, the frightening pace at which the weeks and months and years seem to whip round me. Six weeks is no time, but if time goes by so quickly, six weeks matters.
I love my family.
I still have mother issues.
The dogs need petting.
We’re getting something that looks like snow but isn’t sticking.
Here on the kitchen table, the Old Man Cat nudges me away from typing.
I want to peel an orange for my lunch.
Are all these things holy? They feel so as they roll past me.