Last week while Colorado was being slammed with yet another blizzard, I was off in sunny Atlanta battling a stomach bug visiting friends battling stomach bugs with friends. News that my laid-back un-anxious husband had rushed our youngest to the emergency room with a high fever did nothing to help settle my stomach.
It was not exactly a jolly holiday with Mary.
But by the time I returned my daughter’s fever was under control and the snow, which remained firmly frozen over last year’s garden plot,
was melted completely away from the newly selected southern spot. So I took a teaspoon of sugar to help the medicine go down, then I hit the dirt.
I planted snap peas, spinach. lettuce and onions in the lusciously warm soil outside. Then I started the broccoli, chard, tomatoes and eggplant in a cozy nook in our dining room.
Maybe Dave had harbored ideas of lounging around, maybe he even wanted to go fly a kite, but instead he hunkered down to constructing the frame for our new plot.
Meanwhile the girls declared it officially picnic weather. They swept the snow to the ground and snacked in the sun.
It would be hours before we trekked down to Denver to see the musical Mary Poppins (what? you didn’t catch the theme?)
Yet the feel of fresh dirt was warm in my hands. Soon, so soon, we’d have fresh vegetables.
The girls laughed as they danced from snow pile to swing set.
My handsome hard-working husband hammered happily.
I’m a lucky lady.
It was a perfect day.
And I felt positively supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.