I raced through snow in a Porsche today with my husband, playing Need for Speed: Porsche Unleashed. He won. I crashed.
The builder called; telling us the permit is issued and concrete would be poured tomorrow or the next day. How can this be when no prep work is done?
“OK, we’re scared, what do we do?” I said to my daughter. “We pray. We eat ice cream.”
“We hug our toys,” she added.
I physically exhausted myself today, perhaps working out the fear of the unknown. I did a round of free weights, pulled out a stump in front, and went swimming. My arms felt numb moving through the cool water. Then I came home and experienced the power of using an electric drill to unscrew all the curtain rods on the walls.
I made ice cream today and shared some with the neighbors. I dug out the last two stumps—gritty, sweaty labor. Some roots spread out like tentacles through the ground. I slammed the shovel into the roots to cut them.
The hill worked against me as I twisted the stump back and forth to loosen it, dug around it, scraped out the dirt and twisted more. Once during the process, my neck snapped. Whiplash! With nobody to sue but myself, I slowed down.
Kitties sniffed my dirty gloves through the window screen. I’m moving the heuchera to a clay turtle pot I’ve placed close to the mountain laurel in the back shade garden—transplanting tendrils of hope.