Sweets. . . for the Sweet
A Family Affair

The Restorative Power of Soil: A Riff

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  • The Festival continues.
  • We're in the home stretch now; I can see the end.
  • But there are still details to manage and vehicles to maintain and shuttles to run.
  • And rain in the forecast.
  • Which makes me nervous from a flights-on-time standpoint.
  • (But I'm trying to just ignore that right now.)
  • For me, the Festival is a stamina thing.
  • You see, I have a nice, neat little schedule. 
  • Normally.
  • A part-time job that has major deadlines once in a while.
  • And a micro-part-time job that doesn't.
  • And then I added this Festival gig to the mix.
  • It's tough to jump into full-time-even-weekends-and-on-call-even-when-you're-off.
  • I'm not whining or complaining.
  • (At least, not at this moment.  I've done plenty of that.  Just ask my Mom.  Or Tom.)
  • I'm just stating the facts.
  • Maybe I'm just too old for this.  I think that must be it.
  • Because I'm really tired. Physically and emotionally.
  • Despite the dark chocolate peanut M&Ms.
  • And the wine.
  • My spirits are sagging.
  • Yesterday afternoon, Tom encouraged me to get out in the garden.
  • First, he gently nudged.  I think you'd feel better if you got out in the garden.  When I just sat in the chair like a blob and whimpered, he got a bit more stern.  Get out in the garden before I strangle you!
  • Not really.
  • Not out loud, at least.
  • But he did encourage me to get out there.
  • So I did.
  • I weeded.
  • And pruned.
  • And dug out some invaders.
  • For a couple of hours.
  • I feel so much better.
  • We're in the final week of the festival. 
  • I think I can make it!
  • (Pass the dark chocolate peanut M&Ms, please!)

 

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