The problem with planning a vast new garden is that somebody has to dig up the sod.
And then build the beds.
And clear the sod.
And order the new dirt.
And shovel it into the beds.
And apparently do all this while also parenting, working full time, dealing with a chronically ill spouse and 2 cats, and coping with a death in the family.
Something about grief makes me very tired.
At first, the garden was good therapy: get out there and just dig dig dig! Attack that dirt and embrace change! See, my yard was still under control (the councilman's objections notwithstanding).
But now that the memorial is over, and people have stopped bringing over dinner, and the toddler's bedtime talks aren't all about missing Opa, it's sunk in.
And I'm just tired.
So I'll have to forgive myself for not having the second bed dug yet, and having devoted myself instead to a weekend of enjoying my family. I water the little tomato and cucumber starts, and promise them they won't have to wait too much longer, but for now, what I really need in the evening is to sit on the deck and watch my son playing. Maybe pet the cats. And remember someone we loved.