July first, journaling in the ten minutes of waiting for the frittata to broil while sitting at the kitchen table:
[I am] Looking out there at the two of them in the garden-- father and son (and I, being the body that binds them thus!) working in the cool 7:00 of the morning to undo all the sowing of the evil one, pulling what we did not plant and did not want to grow.
The two wear gloves, and wield hoes. I hope my son does not destroy the tiny kale plants there in the corner; he looks dangerously close. I would say he is a careful person, but that is often hit or miss-- his brain is still developing.
I am making breakfast: a frittata with eggs, kale, and swiss chard from this, our homestead. (I think, actually, using the word "Homestead" for what we do here is rather insulting to the pioneers and anyone who raises their food without also shopping primarily at the supermarket.)
Being the bringer of breakfast, I am excused, currently, from the overwhelming work of ridding the garden of unwelcome plants. I will put my time in after.
After breakfast and into the afternoon, we made it through the garden, and it was heavy, hard work. Not bad work though; Chad said he asked himself-- would he rather be at his old job today, or would he rather be out in this garden, pulling, hoeing, raking, and carting wheelbarrow loads of weeds out? Gardening won.
(Of course, we don't make any money at gardening, and don't save that much money, at the rate we participate. His was a question of desire, not economics. The economic questions are also coming, but that is not what I am writing about today.)
While weeding, I chatted with my husband a little, I grunted and pulled and called the weeds an unkind name, I was attended to by several mosquitos, and I listened to Unbroken, which made me grateful to be doing what I was doing instead of standing on our front steps hugging my son goodbye as he went off to war. (I teared up hard at that part, right there in the middle of my work.)
In other news, I have been bitten by the house designing bug again. It seems to be a habit I cannot shake, but for now, for the record, I am treating it as something to do for fun, not something I am designing for the future. Other people go out with friends or watch movies; I spend the evening curled up with a pad of graph paper and a sharp pencil. (Yet again we see that I am the most fun person ever.)
And, I have been in a fit bit challenge this week with some people I know and some people I don't, and it turns out I am a lot more competitive than anyone realized. I am out at 9:30pm, walking up and down the driveway, getting in just a few more steps, so nobody in the challenge catches up with me.
My thighs ache from so much walking this week, but I do. not. want. to. lose! I will not participate in any challenges next week. This is madness. Let us not forget the point is fitness, not winning. Do your best, have fun, be an encouragement-- that is what I tell Oliver at soccer games. But okay, fine, winning is fun. And I can't help it if my best is also the best, right? Lord, have mercy-- a new heart-weed I didn't even know was there.
And so it goes. -Kurt Vonnegut