I have been furiously cutting back, weeding, and removing dead plants around here.

The chaos has receded to the edges.

I guess I could have moved the hose.

The holes from dead annuals (and some perennials, lets be honest here) were filled with more easy care, drought tolerant plants than I was apt to have done in the past. Lavender, mullien, rue, white mealy blue sage (still has to have the blue in the name, even when I got the white ones. weird, right?) I divided the miscanthus grass and now have 3 instead of the one. I will fill open space with cosmos, strawberry fields gomphrena, and zinnias.

It’s coming together. And these days it’s rose season. I DID remember to prune my roses in mid February, so the blooms are all on healthy looking plants and synced up this month.

As the peach tree and spirea are also in the Rosaceae family those bloom times are ALSO synced back there with the roses… so spring is a bit in your face, ’round these here parts.

Always amazes me how bright the Spirea glows at night. It is weird how some white flowers do that and others don’t.

I try to plant with at least 10 to 15% of plants that glow at night like that and reflect the moonlight, so that we can still see flowers at night. So I can still see flowers at night.

You know, to be enjoyed if I was hanging out at night back there as much as previously.

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The tomatoes are in, as are the banana peppers. The youngest roped her friends into digging up her garden area too, same as last year, and she’s almost ready to plant her garden as well.

And the huge pile of bamboo is gone, that covered the lawn area between the sheds. All my uncle had to do was see it- he didn’t have to even be asked for help and he was back in 15 minutes with a trailer to load it up. Hours and hours I had spent cutting it and burning it in my little fire pit and it had only reduced by half… and then poof! It was loaded on a trailer and hauled away in under an hour.

After we had it all loaded up he asked me how I was doing. I’ve gotten good, since last May, at nailing when people are really asking and when they aren’t, with that question. He really was.

I said I am coming to realize that joy honors my husband so much more than sadness does. And that I’m trying to figure out how to find more of it then, and keep it, again.

I’m not sure if that’s a full answer. But he nodded and said “that’s good.” I thanked him again and told him I loved him (I can tell this embarrasses him EVERY time I do it… it doesn’t stop me.) and he drove off and now there is no huge pile of dead bamboo staring me in the face every time I go in the back.

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There will always be more weeding to be done, but the pansies are still bright and cheerful. The bronze fennel is in, and the kale still looks good. And we’ve had rain, glorious rain too.

I don’t know… it’s never done, but gardening has no goal other than to be in a constant state of flux. This now is planting, this now is harvest, this could be better but there is always next year… on an on through the days. I guess everything is actually like that, but the garden is the place that really hammers it home for me.

And my goodness it can be daunting in it’s scale and responsibility required to make and keep it. I guess that’s true for everything though, not just gardens.

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I have plants inside the house too. And had to add new ones there too.

My seven year old pencil cactus just up and died this winter. I probably overwatered it. My memory is still not what it used to be so it’s watering schedule got wonky. The ol’ memory… did I take my pills? Water the plants? Buy eggs? Or milk? Pay the insurance? Grrr. I still need to rely on lists more than I used to, and I should use them for more than I do. But. In the place of the pencil cactus I now have a staghorn fern and I love it.

I also replaced the mini dracaenas in these pots on the front table as they died the same time as the pencil cactus. I think those were under-watered, though. I actually always disliked those, but now I’m thinking it’s just those pots I’m not a fan of.

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Speaking of things growing… my middle daughter turned 16 this week.

I made her a little arrangement of flowers from the garden and included some pink snapdragons- her favorite flower. I can’t recall if I’ve told her, but I planted them when I was pregnant with her, and they were flowering when we got home with her from the hospital as a newborn. I’ve always associated them with her.

I also found the birthday sign and 3-D paper ornaments, finally. I got all of them on clearance for $10 at TJ Maxx years ago, and they are still going strong and pack down into this tiny box- I love them. My youngest was kinda butthurt I hadn’t put them up for her birthday until I reminded her they hadn’t done it for mine EITHER, soooo… she dropped it immediately, which was funny.

Truth is I forgot they existed, but then I remembered, so now they got used again.

The day, to me, didn’t have the crushing weight of my husband not being there that my oldest’s birthday in August had. Or my own. But god, everything was so fresh in August. We’ve all come a long way since then. And yet I know it was hard this week, for my now 16 year old, without her dad there… but we still had a good meal and birthday and she was happy and loved her gifts.

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There is other stuff going on.

We helped my dad move out of his storeroom and so I have a ton of my mom’s clothes and stuff in the outside shed at my house as we’ll have a garage sale soon. The fucking bin of her leg and wrist and hand and knee braces I find especially weird to have existing in my space.

Also some bad health news for my husband’s mom.

And some struggles with my oldest- who is better now but is still struggling more than I want for her… or any of them, of course.

Its been a real weird week.

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But I carve out moments I enjoy. My Friday writing night is a total high point. This week the youngest and I painted the bathroom and watched a show and then I talked to my brother for an hour while I cleaned my room, then I brewed a pot of tea and wrote for a couple of hours.

It was good.

I was going to write about how I’m slowly realizing that grief is more than sorrow. And that joy can exist without happiness… but then didn’t. Maybe in a few weeks I’ll be ready to try to sort it out on paper, but it at least is starting to clarify in my own head. How painful those early days were when I’d be told or read that I’d never be without grief from here on out… but that was because I thought sorrow and grief were the same things.

I don’t know. These things are starting to become more clear for me, at least a little.

And I can fathom a world with joy in it again because I have it in flashes like firefly blips in the night, even if happiness eludes me still.

It’s weird. I don’t exactly know how to describe it.

I totally don’t have this all sussed out yet. Maybe we never fully do? Or maybe I will one day, and that day is just not today.

Maybe it’s like this, is all. So it sure is lucky the love remains.

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Gosh we were so young, once. And happy.

But spring is here. As I was told all those years ago, and try to remind myself over and over and over again… that means good things are to come.

I wait with baited breath.