Looking on from afar...

Myrtle attacked the roots in the bed up by the side of the porch today.  She made me spend the time peering at her through the fence rather than lying beside her or helping her dig in the dirt.  She NEVER wants me to help her dig in the dirt.  What's up with that?

With each trumpet vine root she pulled from the ground, a great shout erupted from Myrtle.  After a while, I began to think that perhaps she was digging more than roots.  By the time she was done, her yard waste bag was full again and a huge pile of dirt was mounded beside her.  But even then she did not want my help spreading the latter back out.

Once the bed was all level again, Myrtle replanted the ferns that had been in the bed and planted the rest of the mums that had been sitting on the back steps.  Some of them are a bit crushed because Myrtle did not explain to me that they were not a colorful rug upon which I could rest.  That Myrtle, she actually expects me not to cushion my body with her plants.  My goodness, that means she intends me to suffer on the hard, unyielding ground or steps.

Well, to be honest, she did invite me to rest on her new lounge chair with her.  I did, but it is not the same as when she lets me crawl in her lap as she perches on the back step.  I tuck my head in the crook of her right arm and she hunches over my body, as if in a strange sort of hug. Our hearts beat together, and we exchange sighs for the solace that hanging out together brings.  On the lounge chair, I cannot be as close to her, draped across her lap, as I can on the step.

I, of course, have been delighted with all her work in the yard, providing long stretches of mulch in which I might play.  Of course, I have to sort of sneak that play in now.  Myrtle gets so bothered when I venture into the beds.  I say she should not have pulled out all those ground plants and made it so easy for me to walk about the beds if she had intended that I stay out of them.  Being a smart fellow, I start off by doing my business in the bed.  Myrtle's protest dies on her lips and she turns back to her little gadget upon which she plays games.  That leaves me free to frolic to my heart's content...or at least until she looks back up and hollers my name.

Funny that.  Myrtle can make my name seem as if she's showering me with kisses or as if she's smacking my back side all in her tone of voice.  I prefer the former, but when it comes to being outside these days, I seem to engender the latter...just because I'm a fellow who likes to play.  SIGH.

Today, though, we spent most of the day curled up on the couch together.  Something is bothering her more than usual.  That's why I think those roots were not just roots.  While I sure wish Myrtle would let me help with the digging and spreading the mulch, I guess sitting in front of the gate looking on from afar was not so bad, given how much time she's held on to me today.

Give and take.  That's how two folk live together, right?


This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!