I Fought The Yard and the Yard Won

Once upon a time, my husband and I were very diligent about keeping our yard up. We have moved many times over the years and have always made sure our yard had a modicum of curb appeal, in case we ever had to sell. Well, I guess we are never planning to leave this home because we have done a sorry job of yard maintenance over the past four years. Our excuse is that we are hooked to our computers like a ball and chain and can't get outside long enough to accomplish anything. You'd think we'd hire someone, but you have to watch them like hawks to make sure they don't murder your azaleas. I keep thinking that if I have to supervise them, I might as well do it, but then I don't. A conundrum to be sure.

My men-folk were gone for the whole week. So, I took it upon myself to rehabilitate my yard. For several evenings, I tore myself away from my computer work and donned yard working clothes and put my hair in the requisite ponytail. I dragged the lawnmower all over the yard, weed-eated the weeds out of the cracks of the sidewalk, gave bushes a haircut, planted flowers in pots, and pulled weeds out of beds. Bugs, mainly mosquitoes, were attacking me for putting them out of their homes, but I forged on. I was so proud of my accomplishments. I even did this on Saturday evening when everyone else was going out to dinner and a movie. I dug into the weedy jungle under a large oak tree in the front yard. There were vines growing all through the mulch and weeds, weeds, and more weeds. I put on some gloves and began to excavate the gnarly invaders. When I stepped back all sweaty and dirty with an aching back to look at my yard, I was indeed proud. I had made a dent in the overgrown mess. I went inside, cleaned up, got a glass of wine and glowed in the knowledge that I had done good.

Alas, my friends, the yard was laughing at me. It had a secret. It had hurled upon me its most evil villains and I would soon realize its wrath. The next day I noticed a black spot on my elbow surrounded by an angry redness. I didn't know what to think about it. Was it a tick? Did a rock hit me while I was weed-eating? Hmmmm. Slowly, in the recesses of my mind, I began to recall some articles I had read long ago about spider bites. The pictures with those articles showed something very similar to what I was looking at on my arm. Also, there were clusters of red spots trailing along my forearms. Blasted! I had gotten into poison ivy and a brown recluse spider had gotten me! It was not pretty!

I have suffered dearly over the past week. My arms have been on fire and I had to get two shots in the bum to kick start some heavy duty anti-biotics and steroids into my system. I am very thankful to my friend, who is a doctor, for helping me so quickly after I discovered my battle injuries. My arm might have rotted and fallen off without her expertise. I'm not sure how I would have explained to my family upon arriving home to find me missing a limb. I'd have to explain to them, "Well, what had happened was..."

So, as I am typing this blog, my forearms still itch and I am constantly fighting the urge to rake my finely, manicured nails across them. The yard won and gave me scars to prove it. I'm thinking I might sit on the porch with a glass of sweet tea and just supervise others from now on. Although, if I have to supervise, I might as well do it myself! I think I see a weed...

The Seamstress Made Me Do It

I'm tired. My mother-in-law would cringe that I wrote this for the public to see. How puny and whiny of me! But, I am. I work more than full-time running a business that employs several others, plus I keep my husbands' appointment and travel schedules. I am a single-mom (because my husband travels the globe). I have a 100 year old house in constant need of repair. I have two dogs and a cat, plus various other critters that keep invading my home through invisible holes. I have a teenage son involved in every sport in his school - need I say more?

Today, I determined that I am going to have to learn how to hem a pair of baseball pants. The horror! The last thing I have time for is sewing! I was forced to take Home-Ec in middle school, but I swore that I would never touch another sewing utensil again - God as my witness! The sight of a sewing machine makes me cringe. It's like math, it makes no sense to me. Give me a paint brush and some paints and I can make you a lovely picture. Give me a cookbook and some ingredients and I might be able to make something edible - although my son might beg to differ, I think most days I could do it fairly well. But, don't make me sew! My husband has made the mistake of approaching me with a button in one hand and sport coat in the other while stating, "Honey, you can just sew it back on for me." He withered quickly as I looked at him completely bewildered at his silly assumption and said firmly, "I most certainly will not. I do not sew! I do not, do not, do not SEW!"

I have managed all of these years to keep my commitment not to sew intact. But, today, I may have been undone.

There is only one place in my 'blink of an eye' town to get alterations done and I'll be darned if I can ever catch them open! Their sign states they are open for business Tuesday through Friday from 9am to 5pm and on Saturdays by appointment. So, I was there at 9am this fine Tuesday morning with my son's baseball pants in hand to be hemmed by this fine seamstress. The doors were firmly closed and the "Closed" sign still in place next to the hours that stated they should be open right now. There wasn't a car in the lot. I was confused. So, I thought I'd wait a few moments, maybe she got delayed. Then, another car drove up and it was another customer who said she had spoken to the seamstress only the day before who promised to meet her here promptly at 9am. No seamstress. We waited. Ten minutes later, still no seamstress. I left to do other things. I came back 30 minutes later and the same customer was still waiting - no seamstress. I gave up. I called the business number several times only to get a message that said the mailbox was full and "Goodbye." I went by again later in the day and this business had never opened up. I guess she doesn't need our business. To be fair, maybe she has the flu. But, it seems strange that some misfortune occurs on exactly the same days as I have something for her to mend. Because, this has happened several times when I try to take garments to her.

Now, woe is me because I have to pick up the dreaded sewing needle! I have a thousand other things to do, but tonight I'll spend hacking off extra material from my son's baseball pants and proceed to make a crooked hemline on each of the legs. It's likely one leg will be longer than the other. My son will look at me with total disgust, because in his eyes, I am just dumb and old. That part's nothing new, so I can probably stand it. I hope the other mothers won't judge me too harshly. Remember, ladies, I'm tired and lacking the proper skills for this. Sewing just isn't my thing, my Home-Ec teacher would attest to that, if she's still alive. But, my Art teacher would tell you that I sure could paint a pretty picture. Maybe I should just cut off the bottoms of those pants and glue the hemline! It's sort of like painting - problem solved! One leg may still be longer than the other, but my son will just have to stand crooked. I think he can make it work, he can just say he's tired!