Celebrating our third year anniversary, Jim and I went to the outskirts of Todos Santos on the Pacific Ocean. We stayed at a resort which had the stuff I like–pools, gardens, swim-up bar, spa, must-be-on-the-beach accommodations. But, it also had that glamping vibe, that is, we stayed in a Palapa hut watching and chatting with resident “beach bum”surfers and the locals who paraded up the beach trying to sell you a hat. Our conciergie steered us in the right direction for authentic street tacos and sublime Mexican meals. Going to sleep to the sound of the waves is the craving that propels me to take on odd jobs to afford going in the first place. Which shot do you like the best?
Carry the bag of potting soil from the trunk to the patio.
Stir the fish water and compost in with the soil.
Gingerly set the bulb, flower, and bush into its spot.
Now, sit there. And watch it grow.
My mother followed this routine continuously for sixty years.
I confess, I never got it. It seemed like a boring way to spend the day.
Talking to her little friends.
The birds, the butterflies, and the hummingbirds her favorite neighbors.
Her dog by her feet.
Her husband puttering in the garden.
Nothing was professionally done. Nothing was perfect.
It’s been ten months since her passing.
Today, I realized my efforts to create a beautiful patio,
All the toiling and the stiffness earned was for her.
Now, I make a point to sit on the patio.
I sit and watch the plants grow.
It is not boring at all.