Beautiful day, isn't it?

It's a beautiful day with clear skies and temps in the fifties. I looked at my back yard and my compost pile and decided that this was the year I would turn the pile frequently, clear out the weeds that have choked my rose bushes, and get rid of the rogue maple tree that is growing right next to the garage, plotting to undermine the foundation. The garage is in bad shape anyway, and I already have several maple trees, one large one along with a white birch in the front yard.

The peach tree died, choked by a horrible Asiatic vine, a curse worse than kudzu. It runs wild and is unstoppable, except for digging to the roots and removing it. It is an arduous task, and in the past few years, I have not felt up to it, having gone through cancer treatment and still trying to recover my psyche from a layoff in a job that I poured my heart and soul into. Now I feel the desire to work, to clear the yard and uproot weeds and pernicious vines and parasitic trees that attack my car when I back into the driveway. My neighbors on both sides keep their yards in good condition without excess manicuring and I feel that I have neglected my yard past the point of charm that can be established with wildflowers and deliberate neglect for the sake of a forest floor environment.

But I have been inside, listening to music on KCRW, and planning meals. I need to go into the kitchen and make homemade chili, using the rest of the pot of pintos I cooked a few days ago, just like my mother used to make and what we thrived on with rice during our childhood and beyond. I once turned down that plate of rice and beans, and learned a lesson from my father with an Aesop fable about the boy who cried wolf because I said I would eat it and didn't. This was the lie that I was punished for, not the full plate. And then I finished the plate. But the lesson remained.

It is amazing how our earliest experiences shape us into the people we become.