Do you know what I did today? I gardened. After weeks of looking at the front yard and sighing over the thorny bougainvillea branches that try to impale everyone brave enough to walk by them, I actually had time (spring break, I love you!) to do something about it. I hacked and I snipped. I weeded and I trimmed. I bought a huge bag of garden soil and dumped it rapturously in the flowerbeds, in preparation for planting some annuals. The yard now smells vaguely like manure, like you are driving along the I-5 and passing the miles of cattle around Harris Ranch. Call me weird, but I likes it.
A few of my rosebushes are already in bloom. I’ve brought some flowers into the house, to put on the table and by the Mary statue in the hallway. My newest rose — the white one — hasn’t bloomed yet, but it’s getting there. I can’t wait to see how it does this year, its second summer in our yard.
When you ask people what their favorite flower is, I am sure that roses get the most votes. At the risk of being utterly unoriginal, I have to agree. Roses are one of the strongest arguments I know for the existence of God. It’s hard to think of anything as beautiful. And the fact that they remind me of Mary is just an added bonus.
Dirt under my nails and roses in the yard. It’s been a good day.