My in-laws walked the new garden this morning, and later my MIL said to me, when I asked her what she thought, that it's a lot of work. And that was the first moment that I really contemplated what it was going to mean to have an acre and a half of meticulously planned and landscaped gardens and neither a yard service nor a gardener... It wasn't a pretty image. Right now I am all gardening all the time, but not too long from now I will have the pond and the bog pond in, all the plants planted, furniture designed and built, paths, lighting, and irrigation all installed--and then I'll move on to the next thing. Time spent on the garden may go the way of making bread once a week, pasta every couple of weeks, spinning fifteen minutes a day, and drawing. Knitting I have managed to keep up because dishcloths are a quick and easy project--but I have not done *any* of my homework for my spinning class, nor have I done any ikebana since Christmas.
I have planned the new landscaping to be low maintenance, but low maintenance isn't no maintenance. There will be weeds. Sure, I can use a pear burner on the paths and rock area, but there is still going to be mowing, weed-eating, and just plain weeding to do. And I don't have a teenager who can be hired to do yardwork of any kind. She's too afraid she'll run into a tarantula. This is going to require some thought and planning. And maybe a regular yard service to keep up with the leaves and the mowing and the weed whacking.
|Baxter and his pacifier|
Other news of the day: Baxter is getting around well in his sling, and he's making me crazy. He has been doing a periodic aimless-wander-in-circles thing for several months now. Before his accident, he liked to go 'round and 'round the couch while we were sitting watching tv. This would have been okay if either we had carpet or he didn't have horribly long toenails. Unfortunately... Since the sling he spends all of his time in our bedroom--right off the main room--and has taken to pacing down the hall and back again. Tonight it's been every 15 minutes. At 3:00 am this morning it was continuos until I finally got up and shut the doors so he couldn't get out of the bedroom and into the hall on the wood floor. I have taken him outside. He doesn't need to relieve himself. I have given him his meds--two opiates and a muscle relaxant. He is feeling no pain. I fed him cooked chicken breast and beef jerky and brought him fresh water. He is neither hungry nor thirsty. And yet he will not just lie down and *stay* down. So I ordered him a squirrel. He used to do this zen thing with his stuffed squirrel (actually he started with a stuffed pacifier and then moved to a squirrel) where he would hold it between his paws, put his mouth on it, and just sit. He didn't lick. He didn't chew. He just sat there with his mouth on it.Maybe he's got an oral fixation thing going. So now two squirrels, a duck, a fox, and a host of other small dismemberable creatures are on their way from Amazon.
|Baxter and his squirrel|
And speaking of dismemberable... Tonight when we sat down to dinner Jessie saw Pavlova with a small (live) wren in her mouth on the other side of the kitchen. She took the bird away from her and gently put it down outside where it flew away. There were quite a few downy feathers on the stair landing indicating Pavlova had been playing for awhile, but we still have no idea how the wren got into the house. There were no open windows, we didn't leave any doors open (because we don't want the cats to go out), and yet, there was a little wren in the jaws of death. Literally.
Now I have crashed hard. Again. This is becoming a nightly pattern. I'll spell and grammar check this post tomorrow.