This is, and always will be, the garden of my dreams.
Built and tended to by my mum, watered by my dad, the lushness of the Tropics that is hard to find elsewhere, the Madras Earth, that old water well, the absence of the water-wasting manicured lawn, tree stumps with history,… it’s all beauty that tugs at my being.
I had a rare solitary two days this past weekend. No classes to give, no lessons to take, no husband to banter with, nothing that demanded my attention or my time but myself.
How sweet it is.
I read three books, watched two movies, played games on my phone, napped, did what felt like a dozen loads of laundry but was actually four, attended to household chores ignored in the past few weeks, enjoyed the snowfall, ate pizza, made a tote bag for my little niece, and I still feel incredibly well-rested.
I have not spoken so few words in a long, long time.
These little babies grew indoors this weekend, as I didn’t have the heart to test them in the many inches of snow we received.
Sewing might be the one thing that teaches me an attribute I am not known for. Patience. It takes massive reserves of will-power for me to stop what I am doing and not aim to finish every project in a single setting.
It’s not realistic, it takes some of the fun out, and it ignores the realities of all the other things I do in any given day.