This weekend past, I did something I haven’t done in quite some time. Actually, it’s what I didn’t do that is remarkable to me, and let’s just say it was quite liberating.
On Friday morning, I was heading to an event outside of the office. It was an all-day work event. Given that the sun was finally shining, I would be outside for part of the day and near bright, beautiful windows for the rest of it staring out at the gorgeousness that is Mother Nature, it was pretty darned easy to turn off my computer that morning and walk away from it.
That evening, I scooted home, threw some clothes in a bag, and headed towards the joy that is Trinity Bay to spend the evening and the next day with a great friend.
The sunset was spectacular, the company was stellar, steaks were juicy and the chilled white was welcomed. The next day I awoke to sunlight streaming in through the windows and warm temperatures bouncing off every surface it touched. There was no way I was missing one second of that by staring out from the inside.
The moon the night before was large, bright, one might even say full. A full moon in June? That could only mean one thing; time to plant some flowers.
My friend and I headed to O’Neil’s in Spaniard’s Bay to get just enough for one planter — you know, in case our seven months of winter decided it had a little crumb of leftover frost to throw at us. One planter wouldn’t be too much to lose if that cruelness did indeed occur.
The flowers were just breathtaking. Petal colours were about
10 notches past brilliantly vibrant. It was difficult to exercise restraint, but not at all difficult to pass by every plant that bloomed in white. Clearly I am not over my post traumatic winter stress.
Luxurious violet, red, orange and sunny yellow plants were loaded into the car as she and I headed back to spend yet more time in the great out of doors.
And that’s exactly what we did.
Hubby joined us that afternoon and relaxed quite easily while she and I proceeded to cut down at least 4,000 stalks of rhubarb, but not before being stung at least 87 times with the painfully piercing points of stinger plants. Well, there weren’t quite 4,000 stalks, but there were at least 87 puncture wounds from microscopic plant needles.
There was a late supper — consumed outside, of course — then a return trip back home to prepare for a Father’s Day barbecue on that same deck in Green’s Harbour with all of our extended family. The only way I was able to leave without breaking down in full-blown sobbing was because in less than
15 hours we’d be back there again.
Sure enough, Sunday was ridiculously beautiful again, so that was one more full day past the first full moon in June, surely it would be safe to fill all the other window boxes and planters with colour.
Back to O’Neil’s, back to having potting soil ground into my fingernails, back to soaking up every second of being outside, warm, and requiring sunscreen.
The whole family showed up, celebrated, ate, cleaned up, and eventually left. Sadly, it was time for us to face reality and head back to the real world.
So on Sunday evening, after the pure bliss that was this past weekend, I realized that not once during the course of the entire weekend did I push that little rectangle-shaped button on the top left hand side of my laptop, to turn it on.
Sure, I had my iPhone, but even that was used mainly to listen to the playlists Songza would spit out for me (wicked app, get it!).
It is my fond hope that this happens a whole lot over the course of this summer.
Email Paula Tessier at firstname.lastname@example.org.