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As the sign above implies, I have been spending my blogging time working out in the yard or recovering from working in the yard. Anybody know a massage therapist who comes to your house, rubs muscles you haven't used since this time last year and accepts payment of withered tomato plants? Me either.
Why isn't yard work an Olympic Sport? It is strenuous, time consuming, requires lots of specialized equipment and Lord knows, it is competitive. Oh come on, surely you have committed lust in your heart for the yard down the street that has all that stuff blooming when yours looks like Mother Nature is in a snit or pouting because you haven't spent years of trial and error and thousands of dollars trying to charm her to bestow her bounty in your direction.
I will be the first to admit that I don't know squat about what I'm doing. What I do know is that squatting for more than minutes at a time may be my undoing. If you see me in one position for very long, it is only because I don't have the Olympic skills to stand upright. I would hire a trainer but I don't know any who accept packages of zinnia seeds in payment.
Hugs,
