I just cannot write about my puppydog, so I shall focus on my distraction efforts: I mowed, edged, trimmed, played musical pots, fertilized, tended the fountain, and watered. I then came inside and worked for another 4 hours on the near impossible agenda my boss has set out for me.

A strange convergence of events took place in the skies above me that resulted in relatively cool evening air. Once I got Kashi settled back inside, I decided to take out my anguish out on the yard. I did not faint. While my limbs were trembling violently when I was finished with my labors, I neither fainted, threw-up, or fell down.

Much of the back yard grass has given up the ghost, so I had less mowing to do. Why is it that the junk grass I suspect might be crabgrass is lush and green and growing virulently while the expensive Kentucky 31 grass from seed dies off at the least bit of heat? I finished all but one section of edging and weed whacking. That new weed whacker I bought, the Black and Decker cordless one, is a TOTAL waste of money. I should have purchased another electric one and saved $50. It came with not one but TWO batteries, but they are not enough to make it through edging and weed whacking around the sides and sidewalks of my small yard. I'd prefer to kick the thing around the yard a bit, but I need it to continue working.

As much as I LOVE my wisteria, I have to admit that it does have a frustrating tendency to throw out runner vines along the ground that are a pain in the backside to cut back. I attacked all I could find with my shears, along with the overgrowth of my beloved euonymus and the persnickety vines that invade my yard from those of my neighbors. I did not trim the crepe myrtle by the front door because I think my bi-weekly-flower-arrangement-pruning had done the job with that overgrown tree. Of course, the true test will be when B sees it next.

The musical pots task was something that I had wanted to accomplish for a while now. I don't know why I thought I should be adventurous in my potted flowers. I enjoy the impatiens I have been planting each year and cannot understand why I thought I needed some variety. The alternative flowers I chose all promptly died. The empty pots have bothered me, and ever since B's mother gave me a potted caladium for my birthday, I wanted to move some things around to try and fill the lonely pots.

When I was mowing, I found one of the 100 caladiums my mother had sent (boy were they a pain to plant) that had come up in the yard (I must have dropped it out of the box). Rather that just destroy it, I dug it up and set it aside for one of the empty pots. I then moved around 3 plants, splitting them among 5 pots, potted both caladiums, and filled two pots with some of the seedum that edges one of my flowerbeds that I had set aside in a junk pot beneath the deck 2 months ago after I had evened up the seedum border. The last pot got one of the 1,001 maple trees that come up in my yard from a giant one two houses over. It looks rather stupid, but my rule is that after my flower purchase for the pots on the deck, I do not purchase any more.

After watering all the plants and fertilizing the roses and azaelas, I set out the sprinkler in the back yard. Of course, I spent about 20 minutes trying to make it work until I realized I had just not turned it up enough to triggor the movement.

After cleaning out the fountain, I stood still on the upper deck just gazing about the yard.

A woman who had come to my house for the first time last week had asked me if it were a haven for me. She was rather impressed by how it looked (it looks MUCH better now that it has been tended and the empty pots have been filled) and surmised that I must take refuge outside quite often. Her comment gave me pause for the very fact that I actually do not spend time outside enjoying the fruits of my labor. I mostly just gaze from afar because it is too hot for me to remain outside for any length of time (other than those times when I try to committ suicide-by-yardwork). And if I try to do so I get practically eaten alive. Why, then, to I labor so when I only enjoy it whilst chasing my puppydog back inside and filling the bird feeders?

I do take enjoyment in pulling up to my house and casting my eyes about my neat yard, but vista only comprises about a quarter of my labor. And I enjoy the sound of the fountain and mind not the fact that it needs to be cleaned quite frequently. Thinking upon our exchange tonight I thought perhaps my response should have been that my refuge is in the puttering and tending rather than in the end result.