A couple of posts ago, I told you that I’ve been spending time in the garden each day, and that it is now ready for spring. Everything that has been ‘rooted’ over winter has now found a place somewhere and it’s all systems go. There is only one little, annoying fly in the ointment…Chea.
Two days ago, I decided that the weather, mild-ish and non-torrential, was suitable for planting out the broad beans, so, with beans and trowel in hand, I began. I’d made absolutely sure that Chea was off somewhere, having one of her totally captivating feline adventures, and off I went. Before I’d planted the second plant she arrived, trilling and grinning, expectant of the fun we were about to have!
I managed to keep her out of the planting holes, and avoided chopping off her paws, by rolling stones into the bushes. She mindlessly chased them and remained out of harm’s way. Unfortunately, as I planted the last bean, I took my eye off the ball and Chea galloped up and jumped on the string, marking out the straight row, and crushed two plants. They had only been in for five seconds.
Her next trick was to dig a hole, the size of a small bucket, right next to the new gooseberry bush, and then squat and pooh in it. This little visual treat lasted longer than her normal performance, as she appeared to struggle a bit. I’m now thinking that the super-expensive new Fisherman’s Delight might be a tad binding?
March is a strange month for me. Bittersweet really. It is the month in which my father had his birthday, and the month in which my father died. It is also the month in which Richard has his birthday and the month in which my mother died. Mum actually died on the same date as Richard’s birthday – 12th.
Mum died in 1999 and for many years her death overshadowed Richard’s birth. There was the obvious sadness and loss, but there was also the guilt that I felt regarding celebrating Richard’s birthday on the day that mum died. It sort of felt very disrespectful. However, I believe that all things run their course and a couple of years ago I decided that it was time for Richard to take priority on that day. That isn’t to say that mum’s passing is ever forgotten. Every year, on 12th March, I take flowers to the churchyard, but now I ‘sort out’ mum in the morning and then the rest of the day belongs to Richard. Not that it matters much to Richard. He is very laid back about his birthday.
Mum’s flowers almost last until I once again visit the church, on 21st March, on what would have been dad’s birthday. I usually take mum daffodils. Strangely, she didn’t like them in the house but she liked to see them outdoors, and frankly, her wish is still my command. Dad liked carnations. I refuse to take carnations. Can’t stand them. I don’t know why. He usually gets daffodils as well. I can imagine mum and dad standing on some grassy mound, looking down, and dad saying, ‘Look! Look, Joyce. She’s brought me daffodils again! She knows carnations last longer.’ And mum would laugh and say, ‘She took no notice when you were alive, she’ll take none now.’ And then dad would also laugh, and he’d have that familiar twinkle in his eye…because he loved me.
I miss them like I would miss breathing.
Whoops…don’t know how I went from Chea, constipated in a gooseberry bush, to mum and dad standing in paradise discussing flowers and my contrary ways? But I guess some things don’t require an autopsy? Maybe that’s the wrong word to use there? Whatever.
Take care my lovelies x