All I really care about in the world outside my own brain is my lawn and garden, which is a fairly new thing for me, and I don't get all anal about them. But it would be nice to have a day -- a weekend, preferably -- on which to mow the lawn and police the garden and underbrush. But noooooooo. Cold and rainy for a week and a half, in which nonexistent bamboo grew six feet tall and through a webbed lawn chair left out back.
I successfully avoided Vietnam back in the day but now I have to find it in my own back yard.
There is always a however, however.
And that is that the rain that giveth bamboo and ankle-high grass, also giveth one the humbling reminder that no matter how little or how much gardening one does, plant life -- like children -- grow whenever they are good and damned ready.
Oh, did I mention we are spending the equivalent of a small Caribbean island's budget on remodeling and adding to Chez Allen -- planned for in good time, procrastinated in uncertain times and begun and being paid for in bad times. At least we can enjoy the new portion when it is supposed to be completed in mid-summer and not have to go anywhere and spend more money.
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