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After toiling in the garden on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon, we were more then ready for a break. There is a price to pay for neglecting a vegetable garden for two years and allowing it to become a weed garden. We are paying the price in sweat and labor.
Finally, the tools were put away and the debris was cleaned up, but before getting on with the rest of the day, I felt the need for a bit of a rest. So I pulled a throw pillow off the sofa and stretched out on the living room floor. Sunshine was pouring through the window and a cool pre-autumnal breeze was blowing in the open front door. The perfect spot for relaxation.
As my husband passed through the room, he felt inspired to join me. And there we were, two fifty-somethings sprawled on the floor, holding hands, talking about nothing in particular. But the day wasn't over and there were other little jobs to be done so we rose. Perhaps not with the same agility and verve as 30 years ago, or even 10 years ago, but rise we did.
We have friends our age who aren't able to flop on the floor and easily get up again. For that matter, we know people in their fifties who can't dig, pull up five-foot tall weeds, and haul tarps heavy with garden refuse.
So I was thankful.
