The garden. My favorite place when the sun is hot and the breeze is cool. Nothing can rival the satisfaction of unearthing gnarled, twisted roots covered in soft dirt. Whether they're long and stringy coming out the ground like a buried fuse or thick and stalky making a glorious rip on the way out, roots—all of them—are my new favorite thing. Nothing but good things matter when my hands are covered in muddy, squishy, wormy dirt. My only tangible reward is a pile of roots and a sweaty back. But as far as the stuff I can't see and feel, the part of me on the inside that squirms with childish delight, my compensation seems to be the ability to laugh easily and enjoy little things. Things like a four year old asking “What's Mexico?” and “Do spies have swords or not?” Or emails from a freezing young man witnessing the largest sculpted Lenin head in the world.
So from a person not in any position to give any sort of advice, here's my new theory on obtaining happiness: Go weed a garden. You never know what sort of things will begin to make your insides ridiculously content.
3 comments:
*sniff* This year I won't be able to do a normal garden or a box. Maybe I can grow a tomato plant on the kitchen windowsill, but I doubt it. Pull some weeds for me!
And, yes, spies can totally have swords--it just makes the job more difficult. Honestly! Who can be stealthy with something that can clink and clang?
"A freezing young man witnessing the largest sculpted Lenin head in the world"? There is something about this statement that just makes me want to know this young man, and to know why he is freezing near a giant Lenin head.
And can I hire you to come weed my garden? :)
Yes, I'll come weed for you :) I'll pull some weeds for you too Heidi, there are plenty!
And the "freezing young man" is my little brudder! He's a missionary in Russia, just sent to his new area--Ulan Ude (or something like that). Apparently it is the home to the largest Lenin head ever. If you knew him, you two would totally be tight.
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