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