Spring Not-so-break

My husband went back to work yesterday after a week off.

I missed him.

Not that we did anything particular while he was home.  We didn't travel anywhere, or have any heart-to-heart discussions.  One afternoon, we did both doze off watching the food channel, he in the recliner, me on the sofa.

I love those quiet afternoons.  Relaxing together, watching the inside of our eyeballs, Paula Deen whipping up butter in the background.  Sweet.

When we were up, we accomplished quite a bit.  My groom is pretty handy to have around.

Over the week, he washed the cars...

...and blow-dried them with the leaf blower.

I'd never seen such a thing, but I thought it was ingenious. 

He cleaned up and painted the panel under the dishwasher, which had been looking kind of grungy and unfinished since the dishwasher was installed ten years ago.

We hop right on projects around here.

He installed a small vegetable garden in the back yard.   It took an entire morning, hauling boards and dirt, and involved a few trips to Home Depot.

I helped by staying out of the way.

He concocted a pepper spray from hot sauce to douse on the frame to keep the squirrels away.

I hope we remember this is squirrel deterrent and not Oxi-Clean. 

He mowed and seeded our scruffy little lawn, which just produces sticks and leaves at the moment.  I didn't take any pictures of that.  Trust me, it's just sad.

Mid-week, I gave my groom a haircut.

I think he was happy to sit down.

He did play a few games this week.  I'm not naming any names.

He also went to a baseball game with a friend and paid fifty bucks for a hot dog.  Maybe it was fifteen.  Either way, entirely too much for a tube of processed meat product.

Later in the week, my groom cleaned out his dresser and filled a sack for the thrift shop.

I'm always amazed by how many clothes we have, but don't wear.  How does that happen?

Near the end of the week, my groom purchased a flat screen TV, which we had for 24 hours.  It was too big for our small den.  So, we packed up the gaggle of cords and hauled it back to the store to exchange it for the next size down, which is still big enough to make Deen's biscuits the size of hat boxes. 

I've named the TV Flat Stanley.

My groom ran errands this past week as well.  He garnered forgotten items at the grocery store, bought some athletic shoes, picked up a new cable box, accompanied our daughter to the car dealership to pick up a license plate, and spent an afternoon shopping with me, looking for a wall unit to house Flat Stanley.

My groom also took my father to see Act of Valor.  Dad told me later it was excellent, but bloody and violent.  I'm glad I don't have any pictures of that, either.

I don't think my groom could have crammed any more in his week off.  I loved having him around, because he enjoys home projects.  And I usually have a list. 

I make him brownies in return.

Not exactly an even swap, but I did birth his three children.  

Thanks, hard-working groom for all you do at the Ballpark.  This one's for you.

Sprouting Miracles

Here at the Ballpark, we are preparing for a miracle.

We're laying the foundation.

We're planting seeds.

We're watering and spraying.

We're watching.

And waiting.

This is our foundation...

It's four feet by four feet.   It contains four hundred pounds of soil and twenty-five pounds of manure.  And some string.

My husband and daughter are doing most all of the work. 

I love the silver head helping the auburn head.

I love the white socks.  Which, apparently, are the perfect garden shoes.

These are our seedlings...

The tall ones hogging the sunlight are cucumbers.  They outgrew their cubby overnight.   For as mild as cucumbers are, I was surprised to see that they are rather pushy.   I know nothing about gardening.

A few days ago, our daughter carefully buried the tiny plants that were ready for transfer. 

She's a tender and watchful gardener.   She's planted green beans, broccoli, butternut squash, lettuce, carrots, watermelon, and tomatoes, which she hates, but is willing to cultivate for her elders.

She made plant markers, so we can tell what's what, because at this point, everything just looks green and sprouty.

As a chemistry major, she prefers the scientific spelling of watermelon.

We have never planted a vegetable garden in Florida, because 1) the soil is sandy, 2) the sun is too hot, 3) squirrels are rampant, 4) most of the rain we get comes in the form of afternoon storms, or seasonal hurricanes.  None of these particularly nurture baby greens, or burgeoning vegetables. 

That's why it will be an act of God if we harvest any crops.  He'll have to do His part: manipulate the weather and monitor the rodents.  We'll do our part: go outside every day and look.   

It's been said that only God can make a tree.   Only God can make a green bean too.

Solid Foundations

I was in California last week visiting my dear, elderly Uncle B. and his family.  I came home with copious pictures of mountains.

As a resident of flat Florida, I find mountains fascinating; layers upon layers of sediment, shaped by wind and water over hundreds of years.

Many have marveled at their impressive strength and beauty.  

As my Uncle B. turns ninety this month, and my mom approaches ninety-two, it struck me that these two siblings are a bit like mountains themselves.

In their respective families, Mom and Uncle B. are both commanding figures, but in a quiet, resolute way.  Neither are chatty, just for the sake of conversation.  They observe and process privately, then remark, if necessary.  Their Cherokee heritage is evidenced by their somewhat solemn and dignified nature.

They are both good story-tellers.

If mountains could speak, imagine the stories they could share.

Just as mountains reveal marks of distress, Mom and Uncle B. show the wear and tear of living nearly 100 years.  They have surgery scars and laugh lines.  They have bruising from blood thinners and bones that could snap as easily as brittle rocks could, with enough pressure, be sheared from their base.  

But, also like mountains, Mom and Uncle B. have an inner core strength.  And snow on top. 

They are part of the Greatest Generation.

I didn't grow up in Uncle B.'s immediate family, but I suspect, as in my own family, he was, like Mom, the consistent, immovable force.  There was a proper way to do things.  There was a correct way to treat people.  There was not much gray when it came to right and wrong.  The important things were chiseled in rock.

Both Mom and Uncle B. are fragile now, and both are adjusting to degrees of dementia.  But, they are still true to their nature; they are quietly reflective with a strong constitution that has sustained them for ninety-plus years. 

They are still a commanding presence in their families.

They are cherished and loved for their years of guiding and protecting.

Like every mountain, they each have a rich history that includes rough waters, wind storms, green patches, and warm sunshine.

And, they both have children who are marvel at their impressive strength and beauty.