Waving grass...

Firewood Man came to mow today!

Too bad the grass near the upper sidewalk has not yet recovered from Amos' winter watering.  Can you tell Firewood Man did some stealth fertilizing last week.

Afterward, I lay in the grass for a long while.

And I took some more photos.

My hyacinths are blooming!

I was wondering ... are those blossom buds in the center?  There should be pink blossoms all over this.

Am I not remembering the weeping cherry's cycle wrong?  I thought that the blossoms came first and then the leaves, just like the ornamental magnolia.  However, a few more blossoms appeared.  I admire that I have been rather discouraged about both the forsythia and the weeping cherry not blossoming.  I checked the forsythia again.  Nothing going there.  No burst of yellow loveliness.  SIGH.

Amos, ever vigilant, stayed by my side ... though on the bed edging.

After he finished mowing, Firewood Man went and fetched the wood for the raised herb bed.  I spent the day doing a bit of cooking, so I was not exactly welcoming of the thought of needing to get on top of the sealing of the wood.  But I did.

These still are rather wet (as are the ones on the other side of the car), so I am sure, were I to go check, they would look better.  Less milky and more that permanently wet look of clear stain/sealer.  Tomorrow night I will do the other sides of all the boards.  And, then, on Saturday, I wish to go worm collecting.

Yep.
Worms.
Lots of them.

All that root digging showed me how many good earthworms there are in that bed.  So I wish to collect me some before Tim puts the form on Sunday (hopefully).  There will be landscaping cloth and a foot of soil on top of those lovely worms.  I wish for them to be in my herb bed.  So, I wish to try some judicious worm relocation.

Me.
The squeamish one.
Worm relocation.

When Tim came back, after working out where to put the boards so that I could work on them, we sat out side and chewed the fat.  What a blessing he is to me!  So kind and so patient and every so willing to help.

Today, though, he broached the subject of my memory.  He said he noted that I was not remembering things he's done in the past.  And that I have become more anxious.  Funny, he treats that in such a blasé manner.  The wind was blowing the magnolia petals all around us and I was reveling in the lush grass.  I told him that I would dig out a picture of the yard to show him how far it had come beneath his magic.  He smiled.  Slowly.  Gently.  "I remember," he said.  Then he added, "I know you don't."

It was ... nice ... talking with him. I wanted to ask him what he remembered. I wanted to ask him what he knows of me. I wanted to ask him about the past couple of years.  But I did not.  Instead, I told him about this fear I have of losing my house.  He immediately asked, "You paid it off, right?"  I nodded.  Then he added, "Then no one can do that."

Sense doesn't always works with fears.

I am living in a dream home—one which Tim is helping me tend.  I am living in a dream house and dreams always go away.  I have those terrible dreams in which those houses are more real to me than this one.  Tim said, "Well, don't dream."  I smiled.  Would that it were possible for me to do that.

He listened while I talked about my fears.  And the grass.  When I told him my favorite day of the mowing week was Day Five, when the grass is long, but not too long, and when the wind blows— He finished for me, "It waves at you."

Yep.
I am the girl who loves it when her grass waves at her.
And who is terrified all the time.

Some days, I hide it better than others.  This is not one of those days.  Amos knew, I think.  For, today, he spent more time up on my shoulders or ensconced in my lap with his head tucked beneath my chin than not.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!