It has been raining cats and dogs here. Not literally ... there aren't any siamese or cocker spaniels running amuck, but if there were, they'd only drown in the mud pit of a backyard I now have anyway.
I tried to create a trench to drain out all the water, but it made a huge pool-like mass in front of my rose bushes. The bushes that are not loving being grown in water. Ugh.
I finally told hubby to get in there and get his back into it. Well, he did ... he dug a trench that looks like something from World War II and now I have TWO pools in my backyard ... one at the start of trench, one at the back. Rose bushes are precariously placed in wheelbarrow full of dirt. Double ugh.
After he removed the rosebushes, we dug out a smooth wall and placed pine mulch all over it. From there, my rock wall starts and goes down the backyard. Today I thought I'd have the rosebushes replanted and the rock wall finally finished, but NOOOOOO, it's raining. AGAIN!
Maybe I should just give up, make it into sloppy mud pond, and just throw some water lillies on top. Roses can't swim and rocks don't float. (old Chinese proverb ... not really, but it should be)
In more important news, I hope you're feeling better today, Amy. I love you. [genuine hug here]
When I was young, before the age of 10, all the "baby fat" on my body lay directly in both cheeks (on my face). My mother aggravated this condition by putting all my hair in a pony tail directly on TOP of my head, which, oddly enough, looked like water coming out of a whale's spout. So, what did all the kids in school call me? Whale! Yup, that's right.
The school I attended was in the country. It was the only school in my city, which was surrounded by the forest and farms instead of filth and city pollutants. Even though only about 15% of the students' families were farmers, Meco School still ended up with the nickname of Meco Tech ... as if it weren't a real school at all, but a place for country kids to learn how to milk cows, rotate crops, and all that other fun stuff.
Unfortunately for me, it was a real school. The teachers believed in corporal punishment. The parents supported it. Not by tying children to the stake or anything, but with silence.
Make no mistake, we WERE tied up and put in dark closets, forced to eat "kleenex sandwiches" when we talked, made to sit on 6' or higher filing cabinets when we talked again, choked when we answered something incorrect, hair pulled when we didn't answer at all. I would sit there and wonder while trying to hold back tears, 'If these teachers are like this NOW, what will the teachers be like at middle school?" I seriously doubted if I would be able to handle it. The bare spot on the back of my head where hair used to be, wholeheartedly agreed.
My best friend, Miker, was a dreamer like myself. We spent our time on the playground, but it was no play ground for us. While other children played idiotic games like dodge ball or Hot Lava Monster, we created blue prints for our secret underground world. A world where no adult would have power over us. A world where robots guarded an arsenal to protect us. Sure, this world was void of light, but besides slowly developing into mole people, it was perfect.
By sixth grade, I realized the imaginary worlds just weren't going to do. So, in an effort to change my operating basis, I stopped talking with Miker, stopped having Mom put my hair in a spout and adopted an attitude. Purely fake, purely BS, but my face said three words, "I am tough!"
And with that facial declaration, I'll bid you adieu for now. Happy planting and purling! We'll continue this blog entry at another time.
