Roll On, Columbia, Roll On

Reading the current news, listening to the current comments, I have hope that America will do what Trump is opposing. Keep building green. I make up little bits of blog in my head. “Roll On, America, Roll On.” That could be so good. And that line, “Your power is turning our darkness to dawn…” Ranks in there with “Don’t mourn, organize!”

Then I lose it, and sit in the drive, smiling at sparrows for half an hour. And it comes to me—I won’t be me again, for a long time, or never. I’m just a jobless old lady, waiting at the cash register, and the kid is off, spending fifty dollars or less on the week’s groceries. I text her, “Some bacon would be nice,” and almost don’t send it. But some bacon would be nice, so I do. She comes through the line for $29.89, bacon included. Looks like a good week.

I have fifty postcards left. I cannot keep a sentence together long enough to write a directive to any legislator. This one just flashed through my mind, to my Republican governor: “thanks for opposing the Paris pull out.” That’s good; I can look it up here and add another line, later.

It’s hard to stay positive; say nice things first. My neighbor with the ring of little children around her called over today, “How are you feeling?”, and I took a deep breath and then said “Better every day.”

Here’s one thing I’m feeling better about. My front garden, which is admired by the neighborhood around, needed dressed with top soil. The last time I had a garden dressed was three years ago; Hamilton spread bags and bags of soil in the old flower garden. He was a natural; all his Irish farming genes sent arcs of soil to settle around the plants. I don’t have the balance to attempt it; every shovel I own is bigger than Laura. The problem often surfaced in my head, and lingered until the cat came along.

We were in Ace the other day, to buy some grass seed, and I had it. "A dustpan," I announced to the clerk, who is also a marching band member, with Laura. “I beg your pardon,” said he. “Laura, you can broadcast topsoil with a dustpan!”, and I demonstrated. She’s a quick study. 

Today we did the garden, then started in on the seeding over the new drains. Management is OK, and the maintenance guys have good hearts, but their intentions barely outrank my own. Several spots need reseeded, from the big storm that blew through right behind the seeding.

Neither management nor maintenance has been back. I wonder what distracts them? Certainly not sparrows. I know the maintenance guys are in love with  the noise and dust of those silly little tractors. Could be that.