Something's Gotten Into Me

I've never been one much for yardwork. When I was a kid, my mom would send me out to water her impatiens. I hated that chore, I hated those flowers. Never thought they were attractive.

Another reason is that back in the day, I seemed to be allergic to...everything. If I touched any kind of flowering/blooming/green thing in the yard, I'd break out.

My dear late husband loved to work in the yard. He'd spend hours cutting vines and dragging branches to the street.

The first year after he died, frankly, my emotional, physical and give a damn reserves were just too spent to care how the yard looked. I was fortunate that my neighbors were kind enough to keep things mowed and generally neat looking.

But some things I did care about, read: send hubbie out to tend to, such as trimming back the azaleas, were just left undone.

I noticed recently these same azaleas were looking quite overgrown, and in the case of one bush, well, dead. I think it might have taken a lightning hit, or a curse. Who knows.

So I spent some time today trimming and dragging the trimmings to the street for the truck to pick up tomorrow morning. And I really got the best sense of accomplishment upon stepping back and seeing the azaleas looking decent for the first time in two years.

I also see that I need to get a rake and some gloves tomorrow to tend to the pin oak leaves that have gathered behind the bushes at the front of the house.

I'm looking forward to the raking, just taking on some good physical activity with a defined starting and ending point. That when you finish, you can look back and see the results of your labors.

Plus it would be a bit much to expect my neighbor, who is kind enough to zip across the street on his riding mower to take care of my postage stamp of a yard to also do the trimming and raking and weeding.

Wouldn't it?

DC Pics

A Little Blue Today

On the Internet support board I frequent, there's a topic named 'Beyond Active Grieving'. I feel like I'm there, as if I've been there for awhile.

But days like today suck me right back. It's one of those endless Saturdays, I'm tired from so much running up and down the road and coming home to just the kittie.

What I can say is, as blah as today is and has been, it's nowhere near as bad as things were those first months.

So there's that.

Home

Made it back here around six-ish yesterday. The suitcase is all but unpacked & there's a pretty good pile of laundry waiting for me this weekend.

It was a great trip. My colleagues and I traipsed up to the Hill on Tuesday and made the rounds of our congressional members to discuss No Child Left Behind. The highlight of the day? Congressman Charlie Rangel* of New York, giving us directions to my rep's office-Congressman Jim Clyburn, who is the House Majority Whip. Said Congressman Rangel, quote, "Clyburn? He's kind of a big shot around here." This from a 19-term representative and Purple Heart recipient. Made my day.

I'll post some pictures and a few thoughts this weekend.

*I know, other folks get excited about meeting celebrities-me, I'm a total policy wonk geek who gets all fangirly over members of Congress. Go figure.

D.C.

It's cold here. But sunny, and everywhere you look are patches of tulips, some blooming, some about too. Tulips are cool.

I can see the infamous Watergate from my hotel window. It needs a good pressure washing.

Had dinner last night at Georgia Brown's. It was pretty good. I thought our waiter was a bit slow. And the $22. oo round trip cab ride kind of left a sour taste in my mouth. Considering it was all of a mile and a half away from here.

Off to my meeting today. My colleague and I are going to have to figure out a travel strategy, especially for tomorrow, as the Pope arrives here then. That might have been something I should have payed closer attention to prior to this trip.

The Day

started off warm and sunny, and right windy. The dark clouds have rolled in, in advance of what I hope is the last burp of winter for the season.

I'm cleaning and packing along and along, on the road again tomorrow to D.C. for a conference. My hotel is about 6/10ths of a mile from The Mall and a little over a mile from Georgia Brown's. I didn't pick the hotel that deliberately-I picked it mainly because that's where I could get a room. It's proximity to said GB's as well as Chef Eric Ripert's place at the Ritz-Carlton is mere serendipity.

And we get to go up on the Hill Tuesday, where we've been promised a tour of the Majority Whip's office. I'm in policy wonk geek heaven here at the thought of it.

I'm leaving Poopie in charge. Clean up after the party and take the beer cans to the recycler.

Friends

My neighbor has been up over the weekend. She's a widow now, like me. And yet not like me. She and her dear husband Tom had many, many years together. So many more than Donnie and I had.

Yet I know she feels the same way I felt in those first few months. Because whether you were together two years, or ten years or thirty years, there isn't anyone who would say, 'We had enough time, we had enough days and nights together.'

She's been here with a friend, packing up a few things at the house. She had an appraiser over Monday, to look at the furniture and antiques she and her husband spent hours selecting to furnish their vacation home they'd worked so hard to own.

There will be an estate sale Memorial day weekend, and she won't be up here for that. The fact of the matter is, this is most likely her last visit here.

I know we'll keep in touch, a letter or card here, a phone call there. But it surely won't be the same.