Imagine me outside in the early morning walking my “estate.” I am clad in my mother’s hand-me-down men’s blue pajamas, My hair looks like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket, and my glasses are perched on my nose. My feet are shod in half socks and red clogs, and I carry my red mug of sugar and cream with a little bit of coffee.
It is hard to be humble when I look at my clover and buttercup-filled yard. Some people grow grass. I grow clover and buttercups. Humph. My garden box is filled with fresh salad greens and my tomato plant has six babies. I have come a long way.
Mornings are my time of day. I have to admit, it is pure pleasure to wake up slowly, as consciousness enters my head. Licks from a “Swiffer” dog speed up the process, but when I gather myself to go out into the early morning, all damp and fresh and crisp, I am filled with hopefulness. And it keeps happening, every single day!
My pup is bounding around my ankles as I walk. She has been digging holes. I check out her freshest, the one in my new flower bed, which is now missing two of the perennials I planted so symmetrically. Symmetry is sometimes over-rated. A second opinion is always helpful.
It is good to be the Queen, walking the grounds, listening to the birds, and taking stock of all that is in my realm. Ah, the paparazzi have left, and I will (sniff) carry on, then, with my day.