woman vs. nature

“whoever said nothing is impossible, never tried slamming a revolving door….”

Little ol’ me versus nature? No, I’m not referring to aging, although that could be a week’s worth of posts. I’m referring to the never-ending battle with weeds in the riding arena. Every year since the arena was constructed there has been a few here and there, always manageable. This year presented a new challenge. Take a look below:

a quiet conspiracy
a quiet conspiracy

Before this mayhem, my husband and I set out dutifully, armed with shovels, spades, and giggling enthusiasm, this past spring to maintain the look of a classy equestrian riding arena… just think of the exercise we will be getting…don’t forget to stretch afterward! What transpired since that motivational moment is sheer exasperation. Keep in mind this is what first greeted us:

start of the conspiracy
start of the conspiracy

Believe it or not we managed to thin out the above foliage and were very pleased with our efforts. Two days later we had a rainfall and voila! more dirty devils appeared, laughing at us. We must be diligent. A couple of weeks more of bending, stooping, digging, and pulling, we had a serious discussion of what would be the harm in drenching this lot with toxins? An immeasurable amount of guilt surfaced regarding the poisoning of Mother Earth just for our recreation. So, my husband drove the tractor with lawn mower attached and proceeded to cut down the heavy prickly pear, skunk grass, bushy type stuff, and any other funny thing growing tall. (There were some lovely wildflowers, but that’s not where I planted the seeds.) It was all in vain. Little did we realize the mass had reorganized and orchestrated a quiet vendetta against us. We stopped any effort in order to rethink our plan. As far as this date, we have decided to let the cold winter temps shrivel the weeds. Then, we will return with a vengeance of search and destroy, clear it out and bring in sand to smother future growth. Sound good?

As far as this aging business, it has brought to mind of unwanted marketing emails that endlessly amass in the inbox. Years ago, I would have been inundated with suggested cosmetics to keep the youthful look, contraptions to help achieve a flat belly, and for a small membership fee, I could find a hot date in Acapulco. Why am I now receiving daily messages to compare the costs for “burial insurance”?

time spent

If you observe a really happy man you will find him building a boat, writing a symphony, educating his son, growing double dahlias in his garden. He will not be searching for happiness as if it were a collar button that has rolled under the radiator.
– W. Beran Wolfe

The above quote speaks volumes for me. For the past month or two, I have been absorbed, totally, in my pastimes, quilting and knitting. I do go through phases when I don’t bother to enter my sewing room or pick up my knitting needles. I have come to realize, however, how much I do miss this occupation of hobby time, after an episode of my personal “twilight zone”, aptly named. I am precisely the one frantically searching for the button under the radiator, when I’m not working with my hands. Yes, fabrics and fibers are my opiates. Throw in some clay, and I’m truly a happy camper. I ordered some man made self hardening clay that’s waterproof and non-toxic. I intend to sculpt a “one-of-a-kind’ garden decoration this winter. No gnomes for this girl. And, if I don’t produce my Michelangelo, I’ll make some buttons.

While I’m on a roll regarding busy hands… I have become addicted to Words with Friends, an app (I’m hip.) that’s on my android. My husband and I sit at the dining room table and send games to each other. It’s similar to Scrabble, but it’s more fun, because you can add words alongside other words. Now I do question the validity of some of the spellings (it must be produced by a foreign company), but it’s entertaining. The Greek alphabet comes in handy. However, whether this game facilitates sharpness of mind remains to be seen. I was caught leaving the house with rollers in my hair en route to the restaurant.