After all my big talk this winter about how I can't wait for spring so I can get out there and garden, already, I feel strangely listless when I walk around my plot of native perennials, noting all the millions of things that should be done in the dirt to shape the spiffy showplace I dreamt of during the cold, dreary months gone by. Does one just naturally become bone lazy as one ages? I sure have a hard time lighting a fire under my ass these days, even after more than one cup of coffee. I'm not going to say how old I actually am, but it is older than I want to be. Age may have nothing to do with it, however, because my most energetic friend is 17 years older than I am! So why am I seriously contemplating sticking plastic flowers into the ground this growing season? Maybe all the opiates in Gooch's Mexican Syrup are sapping my pep and turning me into a Princess of Listlessness, incapable of sprouting anything but sunflower seeds at the kitchen sink. The only hobby I get really wound up about these days is knitting! Unfortunately, knitting = sitting.
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