a day on the cusp

Here's that culinary industry from the day before. I'll eat the leftovers at every meal until they are gone.
~What to eat when~ has never made sense to me. Unsupervised, I served my kids grilled cheese and chicken noodle soup for breakfast and Cheerios for dinner. Whatever, whenever. We are true omnivores.




Yesterday, it was so cold in the morning I really didn't want to get out of bed. The furnace was turned off and I had left all the doors and windows wide open. The down comforter and duvet were all aired as well. Bed never felt so safe and comfy, but 930 was the limit.
I find the longer I lay in bed, the more miserable my bones feel. I miss the anti-gravity of being in the water but the pool is in a terrible state and weeks away from spring cleaning.

 Today, it bounced back to 70 and sunny and demanded attention. My mailbox garden is overrun with those irises and a gardenia bush that had better give me some blooms this year. The peonies are puny looking but there were buds. I put all these anomalies down to my poor stewardship and climate change.

The lawn is scrubby but thick. A shock because we never really got the leaves off it in the fall, just mowed them to shreds and let them fall.

This is the grove. The four crape myrtles set to the points of the compass. Still recovering from the chain saw butchery inflicted on them two years ago. I think they might bloom this year.

I sat on the lawn behind the mailbox, pulling weeds and hacking out tubers of iris. Baily and Salem inspected the work then scampered across the street to visit my neighbor's daffodils. They both seem to understand the need to look both ways even on our quiet straightaway.

I scratched up enough bare dirt to hide some sunflower and morning glory seeds to go with the zinnias that self-seed so well each year. I miss planting marigolds and such, but I won't go shopping. I may never go retailing again. It's been thirty days since I last went into a store and I don't miss it, much, but if Colin wasn't doing all the necessary provisioning, I'm sure I'd be singing another tune.

The weatherman promises that the South is going to hell in it's Easter basket tomorrow with "tornados" being the lead word in all the forecasts. Timing is everything.