Something odd happened in the garden today. No, not meadow lovemaking. It’s too cold.
Rather, I sat on a garden chair to do the weeding and to plant seedlings.
I’ve never done that before in all my wild days, my mad existence. Normally I get down and dirty on my knees or bend from a great height, flexible as a marionette doll.
As another solstice passes, maybe I’m getting old? These short days and cold bones and the long goodnights. A minor event worth recording in the blog.
Or maybe I’m just worn out. Robinson and I do volunteering and this past week our separate worlds collided. The Glebe Art Show via Addi Road. We both spent hours for days doing things, standing up, instead of lying around watching Netflix in our pyjamas (note to self: use that word in Scrabble) and feeding each other grapes.
It was almost like we were working again, and we thought we’d evolved from all that.
Or maybe it’s because I’ve been sleeping in my new car and have developed a few niggles.
Whatever. I read during the week that people who can balance on one leg for ten seconds are likely to live ten years longer than those who cannot. It sounds like a long episode of Squid Game but I’d easily survive that round. Years of yoga and Pilates have helped. Robinson would get through to the next round as well.
It’s not that easy to kill us. We’re still not on any medication, other than too much wine. We still gym three mornings a week, but often pissweek, apparently. We wander off home too soon according to our gym junkie friends.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
But now I sit down to weed.
Something’s going on. Something odd happened in the garden today.