I tell ya…get laid up a bit and people start doing things. Things without your consent. Things like…oh…tearing up your garden.
When I left the hospital I was given these instructions:
Don’t do anything the rest of the day. Stay still, relax. Okay, I can nap. I’m good at napping.
Don’t lift anything over ten pounds for five days. Don’t vacuum; don’t lift wet clothes out of the wash. Hey, I’m liking this.
Change the bandage every day for the next five days. Um. Ouch. Do you know where that bandage is? Right there at the top of the thigh, where that thin, sensitive skin is. Have you ever tried ripping something sealed onto your thigh with the equivalent of super glue off your skin? Take my word for it. It’s not fun.
So aside from the bandage thing, I’m in for a life of leisure, at least for five days. Or so I thought. It’s hard to relax when you hear a rototiller outside your window in front of the house. Especially when you realize City Boy is missing on the inside. Meaning that despite my best intentions to sleep five days away, I was drawn like a moth to the flame by the dreadful sound outside of my house.
It was just as I had feared. Here it was, the nicest day of the year so far; 80 plus degrees, and City Boy has decided that this is the afternoon to begin digging up the flowerbed in front of the house. Not only is digging up plants in the middle of the day bad for them, not only is digging them up in 80 plus degrees really bad for them…he’s digging up my peonies! My pretty, pretty, just beginning to bud peonies. Add to that the red maple that had been just outside my front porch step, and regardless of what the doctors have just told me, I swear I’m having a heart attack.
There were all my plants, piled high in a wheelbarrow, awaiting who knows what fate. City Boy has threatened for years to till under the garden since I just haven’t had the
desire time to weed. And now I fear I’ll be seeing nothing but grass growing right up to my house before too long. Not much I could do about it now, though, so back to bed I went.
When I got up an hour later I went outside to see the damage, fearing the worst. And what did I see?
City Boy has moved all of my plants to a new flowerbed
City Boy hates my pussy willow tree. I swear they said it would only get 5-7 feet!
The red vine maple that used to sit in front of the house is now near the back sidewalk.
Gotta love that City Boy!