Yesterday my daughter and I went out to buy plants. Last year I learned that mid-April was too early to buy flowers for the front of the yard, and that dark purple and yellow don’t look good against the color of our house. Thankfully those colors look great with browns, and when I moved them out to the wooden sign by the entryway, I was happy they’d found a home.
We brought home purple sage, lavender, lemon-thyme, oregano, and yarrow plants. The mint is growing up nicely from last year, and I’d already bought another rosemary plant. Rosemary and lavender are my favorites for teas. From what I could tell, plants and flowers were something my mom and grandma seemed semi-good at, and at the very least, found joy in.
Up until the past year or two, plants and flowers very much fell into the pages and pages of the”ain’t nobody got time for that” category, one of those things you’d love to get to, if only. I find it all to be rather expensive, by the time you buy the flowers, then the pots, and then the dirt. We helped my mother-in-law pot flowers for her porch this past weekend. I noticed she has a modest but beautiful collection of pots, the artifacts of age and time.
It’s still too cold and wet to plant much here. The ground barely has a chance to dry out before the next line of soggy days comes. We’ve restarted most of the flower seeds which came up in tiny strings, then died. The boys’ cucumbers and pumpkins have remained paper pots of dirt. I looked it up and their soil needs to be around 70 degrees, which it hasn’t been inside.
Also yesterday I washed 2 1/2 loads of towels. My strategy continues to be to keep busy, to do the normal things but also work on something else that stays done and contributes to long-term change. I’m working on delegating more housework to the kids, which involves me writing out all I can think of that needs to get done, or that I would like to have done to uphold not perfection, but the basic human standards of warmth, order, and decency.