Weed Whacker

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I went out for dinner at the excellent pizza place whose name I forget cause I got too much other excellent stuff taking up room in my superior type brain. A friend of Super Agent Fred’s was there and, after hearing my whining about how beat up I had gotten weeding the yard that afternoon, he announced gardening was both soothing and relaxing.
Schmuck.
I’m sure a good axe murder spree is soothing, but the only people who think gardening is relaxing are those who do not indulge in it. I spent hours whacking away at a small-ish mountain of weeds, invasive blackberry canes as big around as my thumb and a passion flower vine that is determined to take over the whole side of the canyon we live in. I got scratches all over, thorns stuck in both hands (through a pair of heavy duty gloves) and sprained my back. Yeah, it was plenty relaxing.

Weeds.


More weeds.


Lotsa Weeds.

Throughout, I had my iTunes playing on the computer up here with the windows open so I could hear it. I realize my neighbors also got an earful, but since I never usually do that, I figured they could suck it up. The shuffle spit out Donna Summer (Bad Girls,) Erasure (Victim of Love,) Madonna (Vogue,) and Dusty Springfield (who knows what? I have lots.) I could just hear them “So he’s not just a queen, he’s an OLD queen….”
Things not actually weeds up in the yard:

Mexican Sage, rolling off into the distance.


Purple echiveria and an old, old, old red fuschia


Coreopsis


Some itty bitty blue flower, the name of which I have long since forgotten, if I ever knew it.

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

9 responses »

  1. Darling, This is why I have given our outdoors to my husband! Pulling weeds, dealing with invasive species – yuck!

    That said, I for one find painting a room (walls and trim) to be very meditative when I am by myself. Painting a ceiling is a bitch. But the walls and trim gives me time to become one with my thoughts.

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  2. That passion vine is going to be the bane of your existence unless you throw horticultural political correctness to the wind and douse every bit of it repeatedly with RoundUp. Trust me. I have been trying to get rid of a passion vine in my tiny back garden for six years and it's still coming up through the garage foundation where I can't get at it with the sprayer.

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  3. All right, Mr. P., I'll take the bait. You know damn well what those little blue flowers are. . .

    . . .they're forget-me-nots!

    (P.S.: Add some Adele, Green Day or Red Hot Chili Peppers to that mix, and the neighbors won't think you're so old — unless you sprain your groove thing while getting down with the Peppers.)

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