Monday, April 20, 2009
Work, Work, Work
My own emotions are fairly slammed shut, very, very emotionally exhausted from the unreasonableness and blame game I'm too often forced to participate in much against my will.
These two guys, survivors of a very troubled sibling group, "Shut up fat lard," Chuy'd whirled on Paloma, his birth sister, very aggravated, but I don't care.
"Watch your mouth boy," I'd warned him. Name calling escalates to fist fighting and I'm sick of the violence.
After church I again, as usual, retreated to my gardens, asking Javy and Chuy to come dig me yet another bed. Scotty, Jack and Nando riding bikes in circles around me as I worked. The house dogs scampering every whichaway, particularly when Paloma almost mowed over a turtle.
"Is this the last one?" Whining in unison.
"Maybe." Yeah, right.
"What would you do without us to dig the beds for you?"
Are you kidding me? Who do you think double dug all the other beds? And who's sucking up all my free time on the soccer field? And do you think I'd need to grow all this food if it were only me?
All valid thoughts, but what's the point?
"Dig it or run off whining, it's all the same to me," I growled, used to doing all the work anyway.
Gina came by, delightfully cheering me up, bringing coffee grounds and her pretty smile.
I stayed up there in the fruit yard until dark, watering, mulching, weeding, mowing and planting while Martin drove the yard tractor around the 1/3 mile circle in the second meadow, keeping it clear for me to stomp out my many frustration, Scotty trimming the branches that might slap me in the face...likely fearing the explosion from me to the branches.
Work, work work. It's all I got, but it is therapeutic.
I drug Fabian's criminal butt to the dentist this morning, hauled in ten tons of groceries, soaked the beans, and have soccer tonight, but there's been very, very little drama here and for that I'm grateful.
Gotta go plant melons. I sound grouchy but I'm not. First time in weeks I can plug in my Ipod and go.