I was out in the yard...

for the first time in a couple of weeks. This yard avoidance was partly due to an horrendous storm that blew through Northern California last week, dumping volumes of rain, flotsam and jetsam from everywhere, knocking out power to almost every house and business, and otherwise making a nuisance of itself. The remainder of my excuse for ignoring yard duty (sounds like I work at the Big House and I'm in charge of the inmates) is that I injured my back and it has been very unfriendly for the past two weeks.

But today, after a two-hour power nap (sleeping with a painful back generally means not-much-sleeping-going-on), I sallied forth with rake, gloves, cutting tools, a bin for yard waste, etc. I felt powerful. I was ready to conquer...and then I bent over to pick up the first errant twig, and I was no longer powerful. I felt old, decrepit and thought I needed more rest for my back, but my alter ego, a.k.a. stubborn self, prevailed and I continued my quest for picking up debris (at a snail's pace, I might add; matter-of-fact, I think I saw a snail, laughing, pointing at me with one of its antennae and rolling over onto the back of its shell), cutting back my roses, emptying my porch of the extremely sad-looking ponsettias that were way past pretty (Heavens, they were way past pathetic after the cold weather and storm), and taking down my Christmas wreath. Mr. Wreath decided he didn't want to leave the porch light where he was perched, so, after struggling with him for several minutes, I used my flower clippers to cut the wreath ring open and pull it off the light. I was on a roll and would not be defeated by a faux wreath or anything else that was clinging to sentimentality. I spent about an hour-and-a-half cleaning up the front and side yards, sweeping my porch and putting all the yard debris in the oversized yard dumpster our town provides. At one point (until recently), I had a yard service, and one evening as I moved the dumpster out to the curb for pick up the next day, I swear that there was a dead body in the bottom of that thing. It weighed a ton, and it hadn't rained, nor was my lawn growing by leaps and bounds at that time, so my only conclusion was that someone had dumped the "evidence" from their killing spree into my yard collection container, but I was too spooked to open the lid to check it out (unlike the people on TV who walk into dark, dank, spooky places, without flashlights and open doors and dumpsters and other creepy containers without much hesitation, only to find some alien or grisly murder victim--don't those people watch TV and know that there's nothing light and fluffy waiting for them?).

I felt very proud of my efforts to clean up and was surprised that my back felt better as I worked. But, I didn't want to push my luck or my recovering back, so I raked the back yard debris into one pile, where it will remain until Monday when I can finish the patio area. The dumpster is weighing in as a welter weight right now, but, by the time I get the remainder of the back yard leaves and limbs into the container, it will be a heavyweight! But at least I'll know that those limbs don't belong to someone who'll make the 11 o'clock news...