So That's My Day

The last few weeks when I've been over at my mum’s place, I've been thinking that I've never seen her garden so over grown with weeds. She has always been somewhat of a keen gardener and she has always got out there with a wide-brimmed hat and gloves and has scratched and pulled and manicured and chopped.

Now, all of a sudden, the weeds seem to be taller than the shrubs and more plentiful. The garden beds are positively bursting with all the wrong stuff. The place looks as though nobody really cares about it any longer.

As you know, I look after my mum, now a days. It's the reason I only work 3 days a week. I'm her carer. She has the beginning of Alzheimer’s and is beginning to struggle.

Anyway, after a few weeks looking at the garden in a kind of perplexed way - I'm sure with all the rain we've had lately, all of a sudden, the weeds have had a growth spurt - it suddenly dawned on me, Oh, I guess that's me. I suppose that's my job now. No, I'm not normally so slow, but it can take me a moment to get used to this power shift in the dynamic I have with my mother.

So, it is a lovely sunny day, the sky is blue, the sun is golden, I guess today is the day. It's my day off and I'm, actually, thinking it's going to be a nice way to spend the day. Maybe, some Jackie O sunglasses, a floral head scarf and some green gardening gloves. Ha, ha. I think I'd tend toward lesbian chic rather than anything quite so camp. Maybe, I should get myself a ute. Perhaps a flanny and some gum boots... then I could get a dog.

So, that’s my day. Christian's Garden Maintenance.

"Nothing too big that can't be pulled."

That's what the logo on the ute door would say.