Today was a good day. Today was sunny, clear, warm. Today I pulled dead plants out of the front garden and put in the yellow rose bush that Yena sent over. It’s right off the front porch where Patrick and I drank coffee in the mornings, had gin-and-tonics in the evening. The tag says it will bloom continuously, which will be nice — he loved yellow roses. I also pruned back the perennials in the back, including the mondarda that grew a wonderful four feet tall this summer and planted the iris transplants that Andrea left on my front porch so that next spring, there should be iris coming up among my plum trees and along the back side of the new fence. Andrea’s iris thinnings were the perfect gift, and one for which I am deeply grateful.
I planted a few King Arthur Daffodils, but I didn’t get to the rest of the daffodils and tulips, because Wendy-the-Buddhist came by with her wonderful children, Eleanor and Scott. We had an interesting conversation about where Patrick is now, and looked at the container that has his ashes (well, my portion of his ashes, my mother has half) and Eleanor remembered how, when they were all here for dinner in August, just after they got back from California, Patrick kept giving them more slices of watermelon when they’d run into the kitchen and ask for more. He was doing the dishes, and we were sitting on the front porch, and Scott in particular took great joy in running in through the living room with that fabulous toddler-run that goes thump-thump-thump along the hardwood floors, and when he’d get to the kitchen he’d look up at Patrick at the sink and sing out “More watermelon! Please!” Then we went to the park, and played on the very cool playground that the community got together to build a few years ago. Scott wanted me to go down the slide so I did. Who knew? The slide is really fun, even if you’re not a little kid anymore.
And then I came home and ate reheated pot roast. Household hints for the bereaved: pot roast. You only need to “cook” it once, then you can reheat it and reheat it and it only gets nicer and mushier and more pot-roasty. And it’s meat, so it feels like real food when you’re perhaps not eating so much because, well, eating is kind of an issue for some of us when we’re sad.
So, all in all, not a bad day. Gardening. Sunshine. Nice children. Pot roast. Not much weeping. Tomorrow, who knows? But for now, I’m content with a good day.