Did everyone's grandparents like to sit on the front porch "just to watch the cars go by," or was it just mine? I feel like I've asked this question here before, but it seems so relevant today. We spent a ton of time out front, with Valerie and without, and by the end of the day, I was wistfully musing about having the porch and garden ready to sit and count cars with the grandkids. Of course, as busy as our street is, we'd have to limit them, hence the Mr suggesting we count only blue ones.
The kid has gotten very good at naming modes of transportation. She exclaims truck excitedly every time she sees one, and it's cuter because she has trouble making the "tr" sound. She loves spotting airplanes, and frequently connects those to Papa (grandpa's now official name), because she was told he flies them. We are close enough to train tracks to hear them go by, and she let me know when she picked up on one. And to my surprise, she made a seriously good effort to repeat the word motorcycle when we saw some. But for real, the best part was when some jerk in a green pickup went roaring down the street faster than the speed limit. She said what she always does (cuck), and Papa said, "no, Valerie, that was an asshole," from the other side of the garden. (I don't think she heard him, but I sure laughed.)
There were enough periods of cloud cover and shade today to make some noticeable progress out front. The Mr put down another few wheelbarrow loads of mulch over the weed barriers. We have figured out what to do for expansions of the paisley and shade gardens as we modify irrigation. Every time I come inside, I marvel anew how rewarding it is to be able to do what I'm doing after so long barely picking up my own head. I still get sore, but I'm moving better and breathing better. I remember a little more what it was like to work like a healthy person. I'll always have to mind my limitations, but they are farther out than they used to be, and I love it.
No comments:
Post a Comment