The human body has 600 muscles. About 350 of mine hurt today. Yesterday was garden planting day. Ow, ouch. I’d take some Aleve but I can’t reach up to the cabinet.
Isn’t it funny how we conveniently forget memories of prior pain? Devoted Spouse and I put in a garden and plant flowers every year. You’d think we’d remember that this is alot of physical activity all at once and ease into it slowly. Nah – Manly Man and Strong Woman can do this all in one day; two tops.
My toes hurt. Honestly. There’s no reason on God’s green earth that my toes should hurt, but they do. The usual muscles are screaming — the backs of my legs are fighting with the front of my legs to see who can trigger the most pain receptors at the same moment. It only hurts when I move…and when I stop moving…and when I wish to move. Yep, my muscles are not happy with me this morning.
There are some stray marigolds in their little connected plastic pots sitting on my back deck waiting for me to come bounding out joyeously and get them in the ground. All their little vegetable brothers and sisters are singing out from the garden plot, “Join us, join us, hurry.” I may let EmmaLou, the Golden Destroyer, out back. She loves marigolds. Especially with a newly-laid mulch chaser.
If I have to lift a garden implement today, Devoted Spouse better be in another area. This is all his fault because he consistently states year after year “Let’s just put in two tomato plants this year.” And I’ll admit, I’m the one who succumbs to all the lovely plants in the garden center and brings home more varieties of vegetables than we could possibly need.
Gardening should be a spectator sport. Maybe next year I’ll just watch P. Allen Smith or that Gardening by the Yard guy Paul James, and garden vicariously. Nah, I’d miss the tomatoes too much. At least by this time next year, I’ll once again forget the pain. Maybe.