Ahhhhh....Forsythia! (or...and I put the shrub snips where???)

The green medians dividing the highways throughout the area are ablaze with the shouting yellow of forsythia. When it is not invading my own yard I love to look at it. In combination with the abnormally warm weather the last few days, this is the sign to me that nature has truly turned the corner to a season of splendor, colors coming into their own some in twos and threes and others going it solo.

My daffodils and hyacinth have past their prime but the pansies I received for Easter will do just fine...deep purple, snappy yellow, burnt okra all with stalks of green. The front lawn shows signs of its own..lots of weeds which beckon to be dealt with.

How is it the older we get the fewer hours there are in a day?? It must certainly be so because the days, weeks and years have become nearly a blur of new places, faces, challenges and poignant prayerfulness.

Barbara pounded the pavement today and Buddy (the voice of the eMos)made his debut as Vicar of St. Bartholomew's in New York City. While his former parish on Staten Island will miss him, the enormity of a "plant" such as St. Barts needs hearts as well as hands to keep it going and they will find a great one in the person of Fr. Buddy.

Afterward I headed back to the county called Rockland to face the vines of marauding forsythia which have strayed through the fencing of my adjoining neighbors yard. Once established, that blinking forsythia is determined to be a permanent resident and I'm not about to let that happen again. The entire lawn becomes an topsoil web of entangled vines. Ugh!

Callie, one of the dogs I take in, has been throwing her black lab weight around. She makes Emmy seem extremely petite by comparison. They have begun to learn to play together, not just do their own thing separately. I've lab-proofed the house, putt up baby gates in strategic places, used an older wooden CD rack to barricade Russell's door so that the moist muzzle of Callie doesn't greet him nose to nose in the morning and give him a heart attack.

Oh, off on another tangent that started with forsythia. As I age my distraction factor has mounted exponentially. I started to the garage to fetch the snips. Oh, but I needed my garden apron for I'd no pocket in these work pants. Darnit!@#*

To get to the apron I had to move the old bed destined for the Orangeburg recycling place. Starting to push that over I noted runaway golf balls and tees which I would have tripped or slipped on, so they went into a plastic basket..under the basket was the instruction manual to the lawnmower which needed to be filed in the house: the manual got only as far as the side door.

You see where this is going...or rather where it ISN'T going. Instead of taking my pent-up energy out on the forsythia, the garage got somewhat organized. I found all the leaf bags, hung up all the rakes, found all the clippers, weed whackers and hedge trimmers and put them in their appropriate spots. Dark had set in and the dogs (who had been basking in the hazy sun or playing with each other) had begun whining for their dinner. Gee, I was hungry too. Fancy that!

Another day gone. The forsythia will be there when I awake, fascinating and taunting me at the same time. At least NOW I do know where both the snips and my gardening gloves will be.