planting seeds

Saturday did not begin as a great day.  I woke up very early because I heard the birds outside, twittering away.  My son was asleep in my bed next to me, the dog asleep at his feet, teen daughter asleep down the hall, husband away for the weekend.  All should have been right in my world.  I could stay in bed, it was not even 6 yet and I did not need to be anywhere for hours.  Yet somehow that lovely extra sleep eluded me, my mind refused to go back to the land of nod, deciding instead to go to a darker place.  You probably know that place.  The gears in your brain start turning, still not fully awake, yet beginning to remember bits and pieces: the things left undone, the things done too often, the things that should not have been said, the things said too loudly.  A beautiful, sunny, peaceful, bird-chirping Saturday morning of calm ruined by one plop of negativity that was now spreading, the ripples growing larger and larger.  And so, unable to stop the ripples, I finally got out of bed and began the day, going through the motions, completing the usual tasks, silently so the children would not wake. 

My dark cloud floated through the morning with me, and I tried to at least keep busy working in the garden,  making hay while the spring sun shone, before the April showers returned.  Work is good, keeps you busy, too many projects, where to begin?  I had just purchased a new shrub and began to dig the hole.  So many projects out here, so little time.  I actually got the shrub in, went to fill the watering can, and noticed my neighbor outside.  Still feeling like an outsider in this home we have occupied for almost 2 years, my initial introverted reaction was to hide.  For some reason, today on this dark cloud day, I decided to break the habit, to be bold and walk over to say hello.  I offered her some poppies that are spreading and need to be moved to a new location, as I remembered her mentioning that her daughter loved their color.  As we chatted, another neighbor walked his dog past and the conversation became a threesome.  A few minutes after this broke up, another neighbor who was driving past pulled alongside the curb and I offered her some raspberry plants that were spreading from last year's planting.  Later, the couple next door came by and we walked through their yard as they pointed out plants which survived the winter.  A teacher friend from school drove past and she and her husband parked and came out to tell me how they admired my phlox.  We must have walked and talked for half an hour pointing out specimens and promising each other cuttings of favorites.  And then I saw the newest neighbor, with a 2 year boy.  I was embarrased because I had forgotten their names when first introduced this winter during a snow shoveling marathon, and so had avoided them, not wanting to admit my ignorance.  My son had mentioned that he noticed the boy admiring our dog from afar on many occasions.  And so, I turned the moment into a teachable one for us both, crossing the street and striding up into the garage to say hello and make new introductions.  The visit brought them to our yard for dog petting and conversing and up into my son's room to find boy toys to share.  The  2 year old did not stay long inside the house alone with my son, as I had hoped his mom and I could work outside alone a bit, but I carried him crying back to his mother's arms, and my son brought the dinosaurs and cars, and he entertained the little one for an hour until those April raindrops scattered everyone back indoors.  Well, it was lunch time anyway.    It had been a good morning.  SO many projects, so little time, very little really accomplished in the garden.  But with the help of friends and neighbors, my dark cloud had lifted and I had planted some seeds, after all.  More seeds that I even realized that I owned.

Keeping a grip, deb