The weight of winter has truly lifted, meaning I'm spending lots o' time outdoors, doing lots o' things I haven't been able to do for a while. Things like raking dead leaves off the flower beds and pulling weeds and tilling, oh my.
Oh my, indeed: My arms are ready to drop off at the shoulder sockets. It's a wonder I can type.
I also have a tiny little part-time gig going on at our nearby garden center, where I have learned to repot "plugs" from tiny little pots into slightly larger ones. I can do about a thousand in an afternoon. The first day I did this the thermometer in the greenhouse read 120° F. I pretended I hadn't seen it and kept 'plugging' along. And I drank a lot of water.
Today and tomorrow are my garden-center days, so if I want to get my five-miler in and do some yardwork at Chez Moi, well, blogging will suffer. You'll get as tired of reading about how tired I am as I will of writing about it. Heh.
If you are the praying type, please add our mining families (and all mining families) to your lists. We are heartbroken over Monday's tragedy, and angry at powerful coal mine owners who skirt regulations and delay implementation of safety measures. The only time new safety legislation is introduced is when a disaster happens. Coal mining is on its way out; the question is not if, but when. Coal may be cheap fuel, but that price doesn't include the lives of those who die getting it out of these mountains.