slow motions

This week has gone ever so slowly, despite the sundry commitments and obligations, and falling asleep on the couch next to the dog, hoping that the things that go bump in the night are just the cats, because despite the weaponry in this house, I'd never want to be called upon to use it.

But the weather gets warmer, and my landlady gave me the okay to do some gardening and such at the new place so I'm trying to figure out what to grow on the balcony, how to fit as much as I can on that small back porch until the front one is done, what blooms to plant in the rows of pots alongside the house. She says there's lots of critters that will eat things on the ground so I'll have to be inventive and try not to be disappointed, though it's probably a good thing if there's more wildlife, as opposed to the almost-hood.

I don't have the space or the same amount of sun to go as crazy as I did last year, with giant sunflowers and poppies and morning glories tangled on the fence, and the plot in the back yielding more squash, beans, and eggplant than I could ever consume on my own and therefore was shared with everyone, but I want to try, I guess and see what I can do with some ingenuity. There was something cathartic about ripping out the weeds with my bare hands, getting my fingernails dirty and knowing that the benefits would be reaped in a few months.

And tonight, dinner with the sister, bowling ala Lebowski with the grunge buddy and his homies. I don't have much compared to some, but the abundance and lushness within my world continues to stun me.