My moral support

To create a little flower is the labor of ages.
- William Blake

It all started with the flowers. I don't like yard work. I don't like to dig, to plant, to mow, to trim, to weed, to spend any time at all kneeling on the ground with dirt on my hands. I don't like it. I never have. I have strong suspicions that I never will. About once a year when conditions are magically right around here, I do get the minor urge to go and buy some flowers to stick in pots. And then let them die. I can't help it. They are very low on my list of priorities. I like to be inside my house. That makes me happy.

So how is it that I end up spending precious spare time doing something I don't like to do? Apparently, I'm easy to convince. I did it to make someone else happy...someone who loves to dig, to plant, to mow, to trim, to weed...and would rather be out doing that instead of sitting behind a sewing machine or using knitting needles. She's convinced I have to have these flowers and instead of being cold and ruthless and informing her that I have zero desire to take these things that she's already expended the energy to dig up, I take them. I don't want to disappoint her or hurt her feelings, right? And then there's no other option, although I know full well it's an exercise in futility. They will die from neglect.

Yesterday I tricked Darcy out into the front yard with me to keep me company while I muttered over having to have a shovel in my hands. I figured I needed the moral support. And she makes everything better.