Sunday was amazing. We hit seventy degrees. It was sunny. It was warm. The only thing that wasn’t ideal was the fact that everyone was outside working.
I noticed it on my way to and from church. Homeowners were out in droves – raking, sweeping, tidying. Sure, they were wearing tank tops. Sure, they were outdoors, getting a healthy dose of fresh air. But they were working – and suddenly I felt like I ought to be working too.
There was plenty that needed to be done in our yard – namely the removal of a winter’s worth of dog mess. Still, my mind had been thinking things like “take a walk”, or “take some photos”, or “sit in the sun and read”. Work really hadn’t entered into the picture. Now, suddenly, I was feeling guilty.
So, after we’d eaten lunch and changed clothes, the girls and I headed to the backyard. Pepper filled a wheelbarrow with stray sticks. Ginger and I tackled the dog mess. About an hour later, the back yard was, once again, safe for walking.
“Now,” I told the girls, “we celebrate.”
Because I was not about to let the first truly nice day of the year go by without some sort of fanfare.
Three hours later, we were on the back patio, sitting in lawn chairs, enjoying the first outdoor fire of the season. The dogs were cavorting. The girls were toasting marshmallows, and I was reflecting on how nice it was not to have to worry about bugs. (Though, we we did spot several mosquitoes). It was all very pleasant.
And, truthfully, it was made more pleasant knowing that the backyard looked tidier and the girls could run and play without fear of stepping in something icky.
So, I suppose it all worked out for the best. I should be thanking the industrious New Englanders for their fine example. I just hope they had the good sense to celebrate afterward like we did.
From the dining room table, thinking next weekend we’ll tackle the many rocks that have somehow migrated to the lawn,